


A Shadow Which Blooms

by Seclina_Lunica



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Canon Era, Demisexuality, Drama, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fix-It, Horror, I am a horror/thriller writer, Javert is conflicted, M/M, Montreuil-sur-Mer, Pre-Toulon-era, Psychological Horror, Scary, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, Tags May Change, There is Romance I Promise, Thriller, Toulon Era, little javert, so this is going to be a little different than most works
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-11 09:41:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11711766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seclina_Lunica/pseuds/Seclina_Lunica
Summary: M-sur-M's infamous Inspector Javert harbors an unwanted secret. After suffering a mental breakdown while apprehending a criminal, M. Madeleine approaches Javert and speaks his thoughts concerning both the Inspector and the general public. Soon, Javert finds that he can no longer hide what he truly is and is forced to expose himself as a creature of darkness.





	1. An Inspector's Mercy

**Author's Note:**

> Artwork: A Shadow Which Blooms  
> By: CharsFX@tumblr.com
> 
>  I'm a horror/thriller writer, so this is going to be fun.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A merciful officer of the law stops a young boy from stealing. He knows what he is and thus our story begins.
> 
> Chapter song: Cytus - Holy Knight https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CJxUJMB_HYg

 

The moon haunted the city of Paris, following whoever dared to escape in the duration of the night, and watching every move they make. The moon knew everything: one’s appearance, personality, the ages and weights of their family, their class, their occupation, wages, and - most importantly - the crosses that they carried. The intricate guardian above harbored every secret that each organic being possessed, including: the gamines, who were difficult, coy thieves, that were desperate to escape imminent starvation; the gangs who bore an obsession of blood; the once innocent, whose lives were unfortunately molded into a life of crime; and the prefecture, who were ready to punish both men and women challenging the written and unwritten laws of society. There was no place to hide; the only escape was between four surrounding walls.

The moon responded to earth’s creatures by laughing. It came to an early conclusion that humans were a desperate and cowardly race. It was a shame to see that humankind - that held so much promise - could fool heartedly become ill minded, and irrational in their thoughts and behaviors, causing destruction in the already unstable economy. Their wars were endless in the fields and streets alike. Human and animal blood painted the streets red. Some slipped in puddles of another’s blood, alas soiling their pale skin and clothes. And earth’s natural satellite observed it all. It was worse than the gendarme.

However, one would stop you and say, ‘what about the stars? They have sharp eyes too. They’re able to watch over us, possibly better than the moon. They are less harsh, for they tend to be admired. There are red stars, white stars, yellow stars and blue stars; they could take turns in watching terrible events that we proudly produce.’

For argument’s sake, another would interject, subtly supporting the previous statement, ‘But there is only one moon at earth's side! It’s a probability of one to a million. The stars could overthrow the moon’s reign of power with little effort. The stars are bigger, brighter and could selfishly take its place.’

The moon reacted in kind. Like stated before, there was only one moon surrounded by millions of stars. The intellectual ones admired, yet feared. The stars would eventually die, but the moon would live, so it wouldn’t be leaving its post. The moon also provided the greatest of all lights in the night, proving that it could do well by exposing humanity’s faults. Without the moon and the local star (the sun), balance would be forever lost. Without an arbitrary star, the people would continue living.

In conclusion, the moon continued to follow those who waked. It desired to do right by revealing the rotten core of Paris. The particular city was quickly tumbling into its own grave, with the aid of the monarchy; who were slowly killing their people. It was a practical suggestion that the moon should expose Paris’ hierarchy too. Only then, maybe, civilization would be even.

Fortunately, the hierarchy was not who the moon focused on one winter's eve.

A young, teenage boy sat on the street curb, with his arms wrapped around his abdomen. The ragged clothes he wore barely kept him warm. Neither a blanket nor a sou could provide him with what he desperately needed this winter season, ‘twas a pity, really. A prospective young man with much potential had nothing better to achieve, than his ultimate intent for survival; two sous, a sock or even a breadcrumb would suffice; however, the people declined to give the boy a passing glance. He was of a darker complexion: black hair, hollow eyes, and darker skin. He was not entirely human in the eyes of many white folk, so he was forced to beg a lot harder than the average street rat.

The boy once came to believe that society was afraid of him. Not because of his pigmentation, but because he acquired something that would commonly be deemed as wicked. It was a secret that he tried his hardest not to expose. Revealing his curse could possibly mean torture, or execution…or so he believed; it wasn’t illegal. But if it were that way, would both the prefecture and government do such a thing to a mere child? Maybe if he murdered an innocent, pregnant woman, then he would get his answer. Normally, the boy had a good head on his shoulders, but sometimes, his seldom-dreadful thoughts were tempting.

Speaking distraught words to deaf ears no longer worked, so the boy began to steal…well, at least tried to. Using what he considered his hex to his advantage, the boy would often meld with another’s shadow and attempt to pick his victim to the bone without a trace of evidence. He was always successful in approaching his victim, but what little conscience he obtained, consistently refrained him from engaging in thievery; therefore, he never actually committed a crime. He reminded himself every day to refuse in doing so. The boy passionately declined in following the paths of his parents; one was a vile and disgusting gypsy whore that was a terrible excuse of a mother, and the other, a deadbeat, convicted father that Paris deemed as a total waste of space.

Suddenly, the boy’s attention was fixed on light footsteps. He looked up and gawked at an old gentleman, innocently passing through the neighborhood. His awareness was lost in the daily newspaper; he was blind to his surroundings. The boy observed a moderately large object bulging from the man’s back pocket. Upon further inspection, he confirmed the item to be a brown, leather wallet. It was an exposed temptation, pleading to be snatched by another’s hands.

The young man was now conflicted. It had been more than a week since his last meal, and clean drink of water; if he didn't do something for himself soon, he would surely die.

He wasn’t ready to die. He wanted to prosper; to rise above all odds and to proudly display that people like him - from the gutter - could escape that wretched life; however, he wouldn’t be able achieve such a feat by taking what wasn’t his. What kind of man would he be, then? Would he be a man that steals in order to flourish? Such thoughts were poison to his senses.

Finally, the boy made his decision. His aim was to steal, but he was only completing the task, so that he could live; that was a fair argument, was it not?

The boy rose to his feet. He silently watched his victim turn the corner and disappear from his terrible gaze. When his confidence reached its peak, he took a sharp breath, and slowly descended into the surface below him. His feet and calves were the first to fall; the rest of his body soon followed.

Moments later, the young man was physically gone; nothing more than a transparent black blob substituted his place in this life. Then, the unnatural sight slipped away and flew across the cobblestone, gracefully forcing itself into the nearest brick wall. The blob then shaped itself into the form of our protagonist. He was now a shadow; a shadow without a body to latch on to. Any person passing by would have agreed that witnessing the unnatural transformation that had taken place was a spectacular sight, indeed.

Wasting what little time was left for his mortal being, the boy travelled along the walls with striking speed. Within seconds, the shadow was beside his prey that possessed the distinct source of life and yearning for comfort. When the boy was within arms reach, he shot out of the wall, quickly turning back into his dense, human form before his feet craved solid ground. As quiet as a mouse, the boy reached for the wallet. His fingertips only managed to brush the leather before a large hand snatched his wrist, ending his potential life-saving mission. He failed, again.

Before scrutinizing the unwanted intruder, the young man watched helplessly as the useless gentleman continued down the road, still reading the paper without crashing into something rigid.

The boy snapped his head to the right, tilted his head upward and observed an unfamiliar man hovering above him. The stranger was dressed in black attire from head to toe, and although the boy did not recognize the man personally, he was immediate in distinguishing the uniform. At last, he met his terror, the Paris police force; he had been caught red-handed.

With a ragged breath and very little patience, the policeman in black started:

‘What are you doing boy?’

The boy was lost for words. ‘I-I, it's not what it looks like!’

‘Well, it sure as hell looks like _something_ to me; thievery, perhaps? Thief, thief!’

The child pleaded, ‘Please, Monsieur, let me go. You are hurting my wrist.’

The Policeman answered, ‘No, I am not letting go! I have half a mind to apprehend you right now and lock you behind bars before sunrise. Scum like you belong in prison, where you cannot taint society, and that the only walls you can paint black are those of a cold jail.’

The boy spat, ‘I am not scum. I am just trying to survive.’

The gendarme then grasped the child’s shirt. He latched onto him with certain desperation, as if he were afraid the boy would escape. He said, ‘Survival is key, but breaking the law will do you no service.’

‘Monsieur, I am only hungry.’

‘Then beg for your food, or get a job.’

‘I've tried, Monsieur.’

The policeman scoffed, ‘Obviously you haven’t; otherwise, you wouldn’t be in this situation.’

‘You're wrong, Monsieur.’ The boy’s breath hitched. ‘I am here, because of who I am. I have the luck of a barren mother. I was born into this heinous life. I was born where a child should not belong, and born a different color. That’s why I’m having problems, you see? I’m different from everyone else.’

The white man raised a brow. ‘How old are you, child?’

‘Fourteen, why?’

The policeman released his hold of the boy. ‘What's your name?’

‘Javert.’

‘Javert…that's it?’

‘Oui.’

The officer examined the boy with uncaring eyes, accompanying them with a queer smile. The sight of the man unnerved Javert, for the he made it impossible to read his current character. Javert didn’t hesitate to convince himself that he was to be sent to prison; it was where he was born and where he would probably die; it was deserved too. There was no escaping from the very thing that he had forlorn to flee his entire life.

The gendarme spoke, ‘Do you trust me, boy?’

‘Uh, yes,’ was all Javert could muster.

‘You are unsure.’

Javert had choked. He quickly made amends with the policeman by giving the respectable man a confident, ‘Yes, I trust you.’

The officer placed his hands on his hips. He turned his back towards the boy. Peering over his shoulder, with a pained expression, the man said, ‘Then come with me.’

Without the aid of brute force, irritable bickering, or irrelevant banter, the man hurried through the vacant streets with Javert at least three steps behind. The gendarme knew that Javert was at his side; he never looked over his shoulder once since the beginning of their venture. He put his utmost trust in the boy, almost as much as the boy said he trusted him. Fact: The meaning of the word ‘trust’ in the policeman’s books wavered on extremely thin ice. If the child got cold feet and fled, he would know, and then would be forced to follow protocol and arrest the boy despite any reasoning.

This particular man obtained a definite fault. He preferred to utilize psychological strategies rather than physical, unless absolutely necessary. As with Javert, he would order the convicted to follow him to the nearest police station without force and without cuffs; he was reprimanded by the prefecture for this behavior several times, but heed no attention to their obvious concerns. He was a good officer, but an odd one; however, his irrational choices may leave him critically injured one day.

Minutes later, curiosity got the better of Javert, so he proceeded to lightly tug on the policeman's sleeve, hoping to receive some sort of attention. The boy was a reserved individual, and despised selfish behavior, but there were questions that needed to be answered. Where were they going? To jail? To the seine? Out of all the things that he hated with a passion, the unknown was on the top of that list; it both scared and aroused Javert simultaneously.

The officer said, ‘What do you want, boy?’

‘Monsieur, where are we going?’

The policeman grimaced. ‘J-just come with me,’ he said. When the man took notice of the boy's worried expression, he caved, ‘Do not fret, child. I'm not going to arrest you.’

Javert was taken aback. ‘Y-You're not?"

The gendarme then chose to ignore Javert.

* * *

The wait was unbearable inside the prefecture of Paris that neighbored the seine and Notre Dame. The structure was fairly large, and at least six story’s, possibly higher; it was a beautiful building too, when referring to architectural ideals. In addition, it was owned by the government, and to those who were wealthy. By displaying a gorgeous building as headquarters for the prefect, it revealed their affection for Paris’ safety and security. Or, it was built that way as a means to flaunt the power that they possessed, allowing themselves to spit in the faces of the poor.

Taking a glance at the grandfather clock situated in the corner of the room, Javert noted that he’d been trapped at the station for over two and a half hours. He spent the majority of his time in an empty office. After being exposed to the prefecture, the familiar policeman generously offered a chair. He started a fire, lit some candles and ordered Javert to wait. Shortly after leaving, the man locked the door. He informed the boy that he still had a duty to fulfill for another two hours, but would return with ‘gifts’. The gendarme’s statement confused Javert. Why would he reward the boy for his atrocious behavior? Twenty minutes later, Javert had come to the realization that the man was an everyday, sarcastic individual.

Javert was bored. All that he had done in the office was stare at the floor and think; too often did he travel into deep thought. Maybe he should consider things the way they are, and refrain from questioning.

Then, a soft knock rapped the door, causing Javert to go stiff. Was it the same gendarme, or was it someone else? He desperately wanted to fall through the floor and disappear underneath the oak desk, but his mind repeatedly persuaded him not to retreat. If he fled, his world would instantly fall apart, for the boy would rather spend eternity in a puddle of his own blood on the streets than in prison.

The door opened and the person revealed himself. The officer from earlier had returned. He was still in uniform and was bearing ‘gifts.’ He was cradling a woven basket. He locked the door behind him.

He turned to face Javert, addressing the boy with a simple, ‘Good evening.’ Then he scurried towards his desk, eventually liberating the basket from his grasp. ‘I’m surprised that you are still here. I had my doubts about you, and believed that you would have escaped through the window or would have at least hidden somewhere in the room.’

Javert quickly retorted, ‘Believe me, Monsieur, why would I do such a thing? I know that I’m going to prison. I deserve it. Running from the law will not change anything.’

The policeman responded, ‘You are not going to prison.’

‘…I'm not?’

‘Of course not!’ The officer said as he started to free his hands from his stuffy, white gloves. ‘Why, you are only a child. There’s no doubt in my mind that you had intentions of stealing that wallet from that poor, old gentleman; however, I stopped you in time before the crime was committed.’

Javert was aghast. ‘But!’-

‘Stop it. I do not care for arguments. What is done is done, and what has been said is said.’

The older man took his dispensable time emptying the basket. Various edible items were inside, including: bread, cheeses, fruit and a small container of turkey meat. A gorgeous, glass plate was also pulled from inside the basket. The gendarme gently positioned the dish onto the desk, careful not to chip it. After placing a generous portion of sustenance onto the platter, he vigorously thrust the meal in front of Javert.

The young man hesitated. The officer noticed the gamine’s gesture and said, ‘I apologize for taking so long. I went home after my patrol. I had to get you something to eat. You’re obviously malnourished and chilled to the bone. Sit, please, by the fire, you'll be snug there. And eat slowly too. Shoving it down your throat will only cause you to retch.’

Acknowledging the man’s words, Javert snatched the plate of food and journeyed towards the fire. He listened to the superior’s command and ate in a slow and orderly fashion. The gendarme stared at Javert, watching the boy’s nimble fingers pick at the food that forced his body to ingest the necessity that prolonged life. Javert found the older man’s watchful gaze discomforting.

The boy stopped eating. He said, ‘I'm sorry, Monsieur, but is something the matter? You are making me uncomfortable.’-

The policeman interrogated, ‘Are you aware that theft is against the law?’

Ashamed, Javert bowed his head. The angels above were shaking their heads; he was sure that they were ready to dispose of him. ‘Yes, Monsieur.’

‘Why did you attempt to steal?’

‘I tried to, because I was hungry. You know this, because you are feeding me.’

Javert bore an intellectual attribute of reading people to their fullest extent with only a single glance; however, Javert needed a double take with the man seated beside him. At first, the policeman was a hard character to judge, but when Javert contemplated the situation, he established that the man was only ruthless to criminals on the streets, and only caring towards those in suffering; mercy was his virtue. It didn’t add up, it wasn’t right. Gendarmes do not care for the rich or the poor; it is not in the fine print of their job description. They follow the word of the law to the letter, catch criminals and swear to regard the unwritten rules of society; compassion, sympathy and mercy were supposedly foreign to the prefecture. Why did this particular man choose to display these contradicting qualities, all the while posing as a model for justice and order?

The officer went out of his way to feed Javert, to help him live to see tomorrow. The whole ordeal was thoughtful, magnanimous, empathetic and charitable. It made Javert sick to his stomach. He was thankful for what the man had done, but found himself speechless, unable to spew the words off his tongue.

The policeman said, ‘You look like you’re about to say something.’

Javert said, ‘Monsieur, are you always like this? Do you pity people like me everyday? Do you feel like you have an obligation to help us? First, you stop me from committing an unforgivable crime and now you provide me with shelter and food. I am unworthy.’

The policeman looked away. ‘I can be a charitable man, sometimes.’

‘A gendarme?’

‘A slice of sainthood is not impossible to achieve.’

‘Forgive me for saying this, Monsieur, but if you continue this benevolent behavior, you will likely be killed by a jealous whore, or a man seeking vengeance. You’d become an easy target.’

‘I became an officer thirteen years ago. Many people have stated their concerns pertaining to my well-being since day one; whether it would be family or the prefect himself.’

Javert continued eating.

The man said, ‘I saw what you did, boy.’

Startled, the child gave the man a perpetual stare. He said with red, puffy cheeks and a full mouth, ‘Hmm…what, stealing? I thought we talked about this.’-

‘You are one of them…shadow people, aren’t you?’

‘I apologize, Monsieur, but you are mistaken. I am not what you claim. I am Javert, a human who just happens to hide within darkness. Yes, I possess the abilities of a shadow, but it doesn’t mean that I live as one.’

‘I see,’ said the officer, ‘but you just contradicted yourself. If you refuse to live as what you are, then why did you use your abilities tonight? And to use it for ill, no doubt.’

Javert sheepishly admitted, ‘Monsieur, I’m always taking advantage of others with the use of my blasphemous capabilities, but I can never follow through. I get cold feet.’

The gendarme leaned back into his chair, and folded his arms across his chest. He stared daggers at the boy, aspiring to bury both guilt and remorse inside Javert’s soul.

And it worked. Javert diverted his eyes to the fireplace, finding some pleasure in the sound of the flame’s crackle and the sight of its sparks. Agitated, Javert lost his appetite. He pushed his plate aside, silently telling the gendarme that he was full.

The man sneered, ‘Finish the plate, boy.’

Javert reluctantly obeyed.

The policeman said, ‘Javert, you cannot escape what you are. You are a shadow; you cannot hide from that fact. Yes, you are right in saying that you are still a mortal – you can die – but you must admit that you possess abilities beyond the supernatural. Literally stating, you are a shadow. You are able to merge with walls and flooring, to follow men discreetly without their knowledge, and to change back into your regular appearance with a simple snap of your fingers. I have even heard from others on the streets that shadows can travel into their own dimensions that are filled to the brim with darkness and demons. I also hear that they can change their form? Is that true, Javert?’

Javert did not answer.

‘Just as you displayed tonight, Javert, you are a talented being. You could probably travel from one end of Paris to the other in less than ten minutes.’

Javert corrected, ‘Eight minutes to be exact. I timed myself once.’

The officer frowned.

Javert continued, ‘Monsieur, I am not proud of what I am; in fact, I am many things. I am poor, a runaway, the son of a whore gypsy and convict, and a shadow that relays in no means of usefulness. I don’t even know my purpose in life. All I strive for is freedom from the gutter.’

After much reflection, the older man said, ‘Javert, in our current world, you should consider using your powers for good. Then, maybe, ordinary fellows would appreciate shadows more, and then other shadows may follow. Humanity tends to be afraid of those like you, because they can’t hear you. They fear that they may be robbed, kidnapped or killed.’ Then, a sudden thought came to mind. ‘Say, boy, I know that what I am about to say may be premature, but I believe that you would make an excellent officer of the prefecture.’

‘Really, a police officer?’ Javert furrowed his brows. He said in disbelief, ‘is that what you truly believe, Monsieur?’

The policeman accredited Javert’s concerns. He said, ‘I do not lie, Javert. I am an honest man. If you say that you wish to be released from the shackles of the streets, then you must submit to the law and the law alone. The law is your father, mother, and next of kin. It is your god, it is the sun and the moon, and it is the bringer of life and the executioner. It is not a guide; it is a set of rules that keep humanity at bay. Without the law, chaos would ensue and the intelligent ones would not thrive. Just like the moon.’

‘Just like the moon, Monsieur?’

‘You know, I should throw a word in about you to the prefect. I don’t think he’ll mind hiring a Romani, no less a shadow as a policeman. Times are a changing. Besides, for your age, you talk like a scholar. An intelligent man such as yourself would no doubt do the law justice, not to mention that your powers would stop crime much faster. Our efficiency level would dominate.’ He laughed, ‘Please, I'm not saying that Paris’ current police are all incompetent fools, I’m just suggesting that you would be a good addition to the force. Who knows, you may possibly surpass me as inspector.’

‘I-Inspector? The prefecture? But I'm only fourteen!’

The man chuckled in return. ‘You are on a journey, Javert. You’ll have many opportunities to choose the paths that you wish to follow. Right now, you are searching for a greater purpose. You said that you want to be useful, well; the police force is in dire need of new recruits. Just think, in working for the prefecture, you would no longer have to live in fear. You would no longer have to hide what you are. You will be able to use your shadow capabilities for good intentions. You can use it in the name of both France and the prefect. You can catch thieves and bandits when they least expect it. Of course, you aren’t required to listen to an old hag like me, so do what you want with my free advice. Just promise me this, Javert. Stay on the right side of the law. I do not wish to arrest you. I am generous, but my lenience is in short supply.’

Javert and the gendarme conversed for another hour, but talked about themselves as individuals. It was approximately two in the morning by the time Javert returned to the streets.

After exiting the station, wrapped in a warm coat and an overly large, blue scarf, Javert gawked at the sky and swore to the stars that he would never break the law; that he would never lie. In order to rise above society’s discriminatory expectations, he must first perfect the art of honesty and learn the system inside and out; he would go to the library tomorrow. The stars seemed to believe him, but the moon had its doubts.

* * *

The gendarme that Javert grew to appreciate was shot dead ten days after their encounter. Javert heard word of the man’s death at a bakery one evening, and dared to see the body in order to relieve his mind of what he considered a myth; he didn’t want to believe him dead. He did see the body that night, and observed five hollow point bullets, messily driven into the officer’s cheeks. Blood was everywhere. A witness informed Javert that he was bandaging a poor women’s leg before he was ambushed.

‘Poor soul,’ said an officer, as he placed a white sheet over his late co-worker’s unrecognizable face. ‘He was a nice man, but his generosity and mercy was bound to get him killed eventually.’

When the body was carried away, Javert took a moment to gather his thoughts and feelings.

Javert had grown attached to the policeman. He knew things about him. He knew that he represented the law, and that his dull eyes and hair were a chocolate brown. He knew that he did not live a lavish lifestyle. He was also a family man, and remembered the names of his three children: Adelia, Cadence and Remi; and his widow, Sydnee. He knew of their whereabouts, the places that they preferred to travel and the importance of their father and husband in their little lives.

The departed policeman left a legacy that others could either live by or learn from. Like any human being, he made mistakes and acquired several flaws, but somehow managed to achieve greatness.

Javert clenched his fists. But if this is what happened to those who are merciful, kind, sympathetic, empathetic and charitable, then Javert wanted no part of it. He also pledged to forget the act of clemency, so that he may continue to live. The moon was content.

Javert held very little regret. It was too early to dwell on what could have been, but looking back, one thing that Javert did regret in his life, was never in knowing that gendarme’s name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are greatly appreciated!


	2. Bagne de Toulon Part 1: Javert meets Valjean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An introduction to Toulon's prison. Javert comes face to face with Valjean for the first time, and chaos ensues.
> 
> Chapter song: Something wicked - Ross Budgen https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zuw_O5MU5CE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is my take on Toulon. The set up of the prison is slightly different than what's in the book and what it was like in real life.

The Bagne de Toulon was bursting with vile critters. Every jail cell was terribly small and housed a maximum of ten convicts. Since the tanks were unnaturally minute in size, there was no room to sleep without strain. The overpowering stench of another stranger, accompanied with their night induced habits would keep most of the neighboring inmates awake, making it virtually impossible to function the following day. A reprimanded criminal would receive an unwanted touch, and that simple touch would eventually lead them into sinful temptation.

After months of neglect, the jailbirds were ultimately treading into each other’s excrements and semen; soon disease would be thrust upon them, and it was already hungry for weakened souls.

At least a quarter of the felons in the bagne passed, due to either claustrophobia or repetitive thrashings directed towards the most vulnerable in the wolf pack; and because of the overpopulation of convicts in Toulon, it usually took at least a week before a guard would have an indication of where the rotting scent was coming from. The honest workers curiously questioned why the prisoners would disregard their dead comrades, until those said workers saw them eat human flesh. The prison acquired limited resources; food and water were scarce, and they barely ate meat. It seemed that only the guards, warden, and commissioner were the ones loading their bellies with proper sustenance and fat pastries.

It was hellfire both indoors and outdoors at Toulon; however, the outdoors was where the extreme temperatures lay. A dreadful heat wave had situated itself in Toulon for the past month. Dehydration and exhaustion was already plaguing the prisoners, so the severe climate did them no favors. The guards were sweltering in taxpayer’s uniforms that sheltered every inch of wet skin below their faces. Eventually, the two parties had nothing left to sweat, and heat stroke became an everyday occurrence. It was a perfect example of natural selection. Only the strong – who strived to fulfill their duty and had a greater will to live - survived the barren wasteland.

Like said, heatstroke was not uncommon, and after experiencing the first day of the heat wave, the convicts were quickly forced to prepare shallow graves. There was little to no time in Toulon to morn, for work was top priority. They were already behind on labor on both land and in the galleys; the government constantly pressed the issue. A drought had afflicted those who worked in the fields, so food had to be rationed; and exporting goods that were sent to France’s hierarchy fluctuated in price.

The wretched weather was the catalyst to the guard’s terrible mood. Similar to the prisoners, they were parched and lost many co-workers from the heat wave, so their lashes became more intense. Not only would the guards whip the convict’s backs as a means of punishment or subtle encouragement, but they would also thrash at the their exposed feet.

The prisoners failed to wear shoes; they were required to remove them on day one. After hard labor, they went ‘home’ with dirty feet, broken toenails, and bloody soles. It was unfair to have no support while they tried to work to the best of their abilities. The inmates had addressed the issue to the jailers in hopes of relaying the message to the warden, but the watchers replied by saying, ‘Then you should not have broken the law. You are all filth at the bottom of our shoes. Why should you walk on the same path as with those who are honest men?’

Toulon was a broken society, quickly descending into a vicious black hole that no man could escape. The felons who attempted escape simply ran, just to see how far they could touch their ultimate freedom. Instead of being shackled and sent back to the galleys, those who were the most lethal were shot in the back like a rabid dog.

The guards were relentless when it came to their aggressive behaviors. Half of them seduced the queer. In exchange of lies that hinted at a certain prisoner’s freedom, they would provide the penurious guards with blowjobs. Their promises of potential freedom from the bagne were empty, and because being gay was illegal, those misused felons were shot too.

Ninety percent of the honest workers in Toulon were corrupted; the other ten percent were corruptible. The guard’s wages were decent, so they took advantage of the power that they bestowed, without the superior’s knowledge. Ten heartless blows would turn into thirty, the inmate’s food would be tossed to them as if they were pigs, they would spit vulgar messages pertaining to homosexuals, and they would spontaneous flog a man without proper reasoning. Some guards found it amusing to piss on the lawbreakers in the duration of the night. Convict or not, the truth was that no human should be treated in such a manner; however, in the eyes of the hierarchy, the inmates were not human; they were ugly animals.

Several hypocritical guards would break the law by engaging in sexual activities with one another in order to cease their boredom. They understood that sex with another man was illegal, but they did not care, for they liked to do it for the high it provided; it was worse than a substance addiction. Every month, new recruits would arrive. They were always young, naïve and innocent, but within a matter of weeks, the senior guards were able to devour them into blackness, and the freshmen began living as changed men.

Punishments in the bagne were an exciting event for all to see. A crook’s sentence depended on the type of crime they had recently committed, whether it would be physical altercations or contempt. Executions in Toulon were seldom. The guillotine in the back room somewhere held no promise for a clean and easy death, for it would take a minimum of three controlled slices before the head was finally severed.

Twenty-one year old Javert was relieved to not be under that blade. He was working as a guard in the bagne, and was told numerous times that he could see everything. Prisoners swore that they had seen his cold, stern eyes in numerous places in short spans of time. They also believed that he had the ability to travel from one end of the prison to the other, in just a matter of seconds. To his annoyance, these rumors caused the convicts to frequently question the young man, and within the first month of Javert’s arrival, the entire prison knew that Javert was a shadow.

On the fourth day of work, Javert found the courage inside of him to tell his superiors of his condition. He meant to keep it a secret for as long as he possibly could, until a fellow co-worker witnessed Javert walking into a wall and transforming into a literal shadow with no body to guide it. He did not report Javert to the warden, but instead, suggested to the young man that he should come clean. Javert thoroughly explained to his superior that he was a dedicated worker, and that he would carry out any instruction given, without question. Then, the warden transmitted the message to the commissioner. Javert was nervous as to what they would think of him. The last thing he wanted was to lose a temporary job that he only took in order to boost his potential career.

Surprisingly, both the commissioner and warden responded well to the news. In a span of four days, several higher ups from both Toulon and Paris, interviewed Javert, and asked the boy as to what his abnormal capabilities could offer them, and how it would make both the bagne, and the galleys a more efficient workforce. Javert answered, and after those four, nerve-wracking days, they accepted Javert with open arms, and encouraged the young man to use his shadow abilities as often as he could. [1]

Since then, Javert had rarely used his powers, but instincts eventually got the better of him, and he found himself applying them to his work twenty-four seven. Javert knew that there would be repercussions. He was discriminated by a hefty portion of his co-workers, and was mocked every day by the inmates, for they only thought of him as a carnival act; his Romani heritage did him no services either. At first, the persistent bullying got under Javert’s skin, but as time went on, he didn’t give a flying fuck about what they thought. He was there to fulfill his duty, and like the other guards, he could accomplish his tasks in any way he pleased. Whatever happened in Toulon stayed in Toulon; Javert had no intentions of exposing himself back in Paris.

Javert did all sorts of things in the bagne, but rarely did he work outdoors. His daily routines consisted of feeding prisoners, cleaning cells, and standing guard in Toulon’s caves and tunnels, watching the felons pay their dues. He was indoors as per personal request. Shadows needed to stay as cool as possible. A beautiful day ceased to affect him, but the scorching heat currently plaguing Toulon, would be too much to bear. On one disgusting afternoon, a colleague was ill and was obviously unable to stand watch, so Javert’s supervisor ordered him to stand in his place, until evening. Javert was reluctant, but he was loyal to his obligation, so he buried his worrying thoughts, and accepted the task. As expected, within the first hour, heatstroke easily overpowered Javert’s body, and he collapsed.

Javert insisted on going back to work the next day, but under doctor’s orders, he was forced to be bed ridden for at least a week. He was prescribed with bags of ice – that needed to be changed every hour – and much needed rest. When the young man was dispatched from the infirmary, he was given good instruction from the warden to stay chilled indoors at all times, until his strength was up to his supervisor’s sufficient standards. With great determination, Javert was positioned back to his regular duties; however, daylight quickly became foreign and he wondered what it was like to feel the sun’s rays against his skin. Maybe, in two weeks time, when the air has chilled, he would be able to go outside again.

On a particular Tuesday evening in the prison wards, Javert was given a cart piled with plates of what he thought to be dog chow, and was ordered to feed the prisoners in D-block, where the most notorious of all criminals in bagnes de Toulon resided. Unlike blocks A-C, their cells were larger in volume, and there was only one convict assigned to each cell. In the late 1700’s, extremely violent fights had ensued, in which always ended up with a deceased person, resulting in a changed set up. The confined jailbirds in D-block were the strongest and the largest of bodies; the majority of them enjoyed murdering for the thrill. Presently, there were only thirty convicts who were labeled as extremely dangerous; however, they were a quiet bunch. It surprised Javert, because he expected mostly inappropriate racket, and common slander against him.

As Javert passed each unit, he gently placed the food through a chute that was built into each door. He slapped a truncheon against the bars, saying to them, ‘Wake up. Your dinner is here.’ Like any prisoner, they complained about their meal, but did not stop to gorge themselves with their only meal of the day. In a convict’s eyes, Javert was different than the average guard. He was stern, but fair and he treated each prisoner the same, and like a human being. He punished them when it was earned, and lashed the number of times that was directed in the handbook. Javert would sometimes absentmindedly show a type of compassion that he didn’t think himself capable of. For example, in a controlled environment, he would bandage the inmate’s feet, when they could no longer stand. As Javert would mend every wound, he always journeyed back into his past, and felt like he was in the shoes of that unknown police officer that had saved his life seven years prior. It was ironic that he was tending to the very wound that condemned that same gendarme to death. He should stop this foolishness.

When Javert had finished providing food to the prisoners, a voice harshly murmured to Javert from the other side of the block.

‘Hey, Javert! Over here!’

Javert turned around. He saw a hand, desperately reaching through its cell bars, hoping to get the young man’s attention. He successfully got it.

Faster than one could blink, Javert’s body went black and jutted into the floor. He flew to the other side of the prison, and appeared in front of the nameless convict. Javert took the opportunity to examine the prisoner from head to toe.

The man behind bars was older, at least ten years Javert’s senior. The prisoner gawked at Javert with hungry eyes, as if he were to tear out the younger man’s innards, and hang him from the ceiling with it. This specific convict was familiar to Javert’s eyes and ears. Occasionally, he had observed the man working in the distant fields, but he was mostly accustomed to the galleys. His hair was long and dirty, slightly covering his fierce eyes that burned holes into poor, tormented souls; but his brute strength was what set him apart from the other felons. Javert managed to spew three names consecutively, ‘Jean-le-Cric, Jean Valjean…24601.’

The man we’ll refer to as Jean Valjean carried heavier loads, and worked longer hours, because of his immaculate size and strength. Currently, Valjean had been working hard labor for sixteen years, and after hearing such stories, Javert was surprised to see that the man hadn’t broken his back by now. After taking a moment or two to burn the image of the inmate into his memory, he said:

‘What do you want, 24601?’

The convict did not answer.

‘You called me over here…are you going to say anything? Or do you enjoy wasting my fucking time?’

‘I w _ant_ better food, and more fucking food. All of us do.’

Javert raised a brow. ‘Why are you complaining about this to me? I was just ordered to give you this fucking shit. I can’t control what the cook makes or what your portions are.’ He said sarcastically, ‘but if you would so kindly inform my supervisor about the matter, he will be sure to take your complaint and pass the irrelevant message on to the warden.’

Valjean growled. He stared at Javert’s neck with daring eyes. Initially, Javert was confused as to why Valjean was focusing on that particular area of his body, until he looked down at his feet, and realized that he was standing too close to the cell.

Suddenly grabbed by the front of his uniform, Javert was maliciously pulled forwards; his tall body rigorously pinned against the steel bars. _‘Shit,’_ he thought, _‘I shouldn’t have come alone.’_ Using his hands, Javert attempted to break free from Valjean’s grasp, but he immediately recognized that the convict was stronger. The other prisoners situated inside D-block observed the vile event unfolding, and began rooting for Valean to get what seemed like revenge. Still holding Javert with a secure grip, Valjean used a free hand to curl his fingers around Javert’s throat.

Javert’s eyes were as wide as saucers. Was he supposed to die this early in life? He didn’t want to die; he was supposed to live. ‘W-Why,’ was all Javert could say before Valjean’s hand squeezed, instantly cutting off Javert’s air passage. Javert was stuck in place. There was no way to let out a scream, no way to cry for help.

Desperate to live, three black tentacles formed underneath the darkness of Javert’s feet, and quickly protruded from the ground. The three streams of supposed black light, swiftly shot up at Valjean, and before the older man could react, the tentacles had wrapped themselves around his neck, immediately tightening, blocking off his airways with no mercy. Valjean skin was turning into a mixture of purple and blue, exceedingly fast.

The convict let go of Javert. The younger man coughed violently, and gasped for air, before sinking to his knees. Exhausted, Javert fell onto his side. Just then, the tentacles released Valjean, washing back to where Javert’s body was now positioned. They merged with Javert’s shadow.

Valjean staggered backwards, his spine eventually hitting the cell’s farthest wall. He slid to the ground whilst breathing a sigh of instant relief.

D-block was terribly quiet. Javert scanned the surrounding area, and observed the other prisoners staring at him with their mouths agape. When his breath was no longer ragged and he managed to piece himself back together, he shot a furious look at his attacker and shouted, ‘What in the blue fuck was that for? What did I ever do you?’

Javert was disgusted. He was disgusted with both Valjean – for obvious reasons – and himself, whether a convict or an honest man, Javert had never used his powers to assault another human. He used his abilities in the bagne to travel from point A to point B, with no harm done to another organic being, but that was it! Javert quickly made an excuse in saying that he had done it out of self-defense, but he also reminded himself that this frightful event would not be repeated.

Between gasps, Valjean said, ‘I’m just hungry, Javert.’

Javert snarled. ‘Then you shouldn’t have broken the law. Fucking idiot, now you will get nothing. All of you will get nothing!’ Clutching his dry throat, Javert left D-block. Outside, he staggered towards the warden’s quarters, where he would make certain that no guard would be working in any convict infested areas alone, ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Javert's shadow abilities are explained in Chapter one by the police officer that Javert encounters on the streets.
> 
> Thank you to all of my readers. It's you guys who keep me going, and having loads of fun. Comments are greatly appreciated.


	3. Bagne de Toulon Part 2: Javert's Last Act of Kindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valjean attempts to escape prison. Javert reluctantly shows compassion.
> 
> Chapter song: Fargo - Jeff Russo https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aM2l8TPzKmY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more Toulon Chapter to go and then we're off to Montreuil sur Mer universe! Yay!

Valjean’s eyes fluttered open when glimmers of yellow light settled onto his eyelids. Glancing out of his cell window, he determined that it was going to be another warm day; the humidity was already starting to seep its way into the prison. Valjean took his hand and lightly rubbed underneath his collarbone. His throat was extremely sore from last night’s events. After the horrid dispute, and much afterthought, Valjean’s heart immediately sunk. He had committed assault; he truly did lose himself in the galleys. Sixteen years worth of blood sucking labor with no chance of rest could do wicked wonders to a man.

Valjean’s mind wandered towards the well being of the young man, Javert. He spiritually wished him a decent recovery from the unwarranted attack. Poor child, he had done nothing wrong. It was the government’s fault. It was the injustice of society and the government’s structure that killed Valjean’s soul. The boy’s voice would be damaged for at least a month.

Valjean shrugged. Unfortunately, he too, was suffering from a broken gullet, but unlike the younger man, Valjean’s heartfelt strangulation was well deserved. The shadow race was rather new to the felon. He had only been told stories and myths from word of mouth in the galleys, and if what he experienced yesterday was only a small indication of what these weird creatures were capable of, then Valjean would no longer quarrel with Javert. He would do his best to ignore the guard for the remainder of his time in Toulon.

Valjean anticipated punishment this morning. He assumed that Javert had reported him to the warden last night, and if Valjean were a lucky man, he would only be whipped; but, if his luck finally tired, he suspected that he would be hung over the highest cliff. It was an area where all of the convicts working in the galleys could heed their warning. He predicted that after his demise, the guards would probably leave him there. He would be considered the Bagnes de Toulon’s welcome wagon until he was dust.

Before burrowing a hole into his rancid thoughts, something relatively shiny caught Valjean’s eye. He shifted his eyes towards the door of his cell, and discovered two plates of decadent food politely sitting near the built in chute. Valjean curiously cocked his head to the side. Was the bagne finally serving breakfast? There was no such thing as breakfast in Toulon, for they only received one meal a day, and that was at six o’ clock in the evening.

Inching closer to the plates with the use of his hands and knees, Valjean examined the items thoroughly. The dish on his left held two eggs, four large slices of bread, two thick sausages and four strips of bacon. It was neatly decorated too. This particular dish was a common breakfast that only the guards would be allowed to indulge themselves in. In turn for his hard, and dedicated type of work, Valjean received stale beans, a mediocre slice of bread, and a small cup of wine that was shared amongst the other convicts.

Valjean then turned his attention to the other plate, which included: green beans, a pork chop and a mountain of mashed potatoes. For the guards, and other honest workers, this would normally be served in the mess at dinnertime. Valjean felt each piece of porcelain containing substance. The breakfast dish was still warm, but the other was cold to the touch. With that simple touch, Valjean assumed that someone’s hard earned supper arrived at his cell in the duration of the night. Whoever it was, they were awfully generous. Valjean’s mind suggested that the culprit might have been Javert. The belief was preposterous; after all, he almost killed the young man, so why would the boy go out of his way to do such a nice thing?

When the offerings were accepted, Valjean ate like he hadn’t seen or heard of the word ‘food’ in thirty years, all for the sake of avoiding any attention from the other jailbirds who may be watching. Although none of the other convicts were awake, if one of them saw that Valjean was seemingly being rewarded for his ill behavior, they wouldn’t hesitate to rebel against the guards, in hopes of getting what _they_ wanted.

When Valjean took the last bite of nourishment on both plates, he set the dirty dishes aside into a dark corner, sure to hide the evidence. He also made a mental note in consideration to Javert’s kindness. Reluctant to do so, the older man would have to thank and apologize to Javert the next time he’d run into him, which may be never.

Suddenly, Valjean heard faint tapping beside him. A small voice called, ‘Hey, Jean.’ It was the neighboring prisoner. Dirty, vile and disrespectful, we’ll deem him irrelevant; he’s not much worth explaining. Valjean had very little patience for these people; he didn’t know their names, or numbers, and their faces were blank canvases. He wanted to be alone and untouched.

Valjean snapped, ‘What?’

The unwanted visitor whispered, hoping that no one would overhear their very brief conversation, for he did not want Valjean to get into more trouble than what was already necessary. ‘Are you still going to attempt to escape today? Despite what…you know…happened, last night? I mean, you’ve been planning this for months.’-

Valjean said, ‘Yes.’

‘Good luck, then,’ responded the prisoner. ‘If you do manage to escape, say ‘hello’ to the outside world for me.’

And that was it.

 

 * * *

 

Later that afternoon, Valjean was slowly descending from a ten-foot fence bordering the bagne, and completely covered in trees and thick bush. Three months prior, Valjean had discovered that it was one of the few fences that did not contain watchers. Not typically a praying man, Valjean silently pleaded to God that there were none there today. Earlier in the tunnels, the man had purposely been working at a slower pace; and in the back, in order to stay clear of the crowd. After circling the vicinity twenty times over, it wasn’t long before he found himself isolated from the world. When Valjean believed the coast to be clear, he placed his cart of iron between the light and shadows. It was an area where the guards had always failed to keep watch, giving Valjean the ample opportunity to a slip into a narrow, manmade passageway that quickly consumed him into darkness.

Freeing himself from the work area, Valjean instantly found shelter outside, displaying itself as dense vegetation. To his common knowledge, no one had discovered his sudden departure yet. Once within the forestry’s safe keeping, Valjean attempted to ease his mind from his doubts by hiding where he currently crouched for a minute or so, to see if the guards were already looking for him. In those passing two minutes, Valjean observed a couple of watchers stalking through his line of vision, but they did not seem like they were in duress. When both his mind and heart finally settled, he took one deep breath before scurrying through the bushes; he stopped when he had arrived at a dry, barren field.

It had been at least two hours since his withdrawal from the bagne. While gasping for air, Valjean assumed that he was seven or eight miles out from the prison.

Now, if he could just reach the nearest town. His plan there was to conceal himself long enough for him to be able to bathe and cut his hair, so that no one would recognize him as an escaped convict. With that master plan set in mind, he grew excited at the thought that he could potentially carry on with a new, less worrisome life as an ‘honest’ man; however, Valjean knew that it was only a fantasy. Maybe the dream wasn’t impossible to attain if there were another way.

Several miles from the bagne, Valjean was slowly walking on parched land, with no signs of life nearby. Cracks scattered all areas of the ground, and the bright blue sky stretched itself into infinity. Physical sensations of heat had enveloped Valjean. The extreme temperature fatigued him, and if any necessities that sustained life did not come to him in the next twenty minutes, he would surely be caught, and sent back into hellfire; maybe they would do him the service by shooting him behind a barn like a lame dog. Valjean took one step forwards. –

_What?_ He couldn’t move.

The felon’s body was frozen in place, but continued to maintain a walking position. No matter how hard he struggled, Valjean was still refrained from finishing that last step. He couldn’t move a single bone or muscle inside his body; something was constricting his movements. After much tussle for dominance, Valjean managed to look over his shoulder, hoping to find the answer as to what was lingering behind him.

There was nothing there; nothing, but empty blue space, so what was keeping him immobile?

Then, Valjean felt something firm curl around his ankle. Continuing to look over his shoulder, Valjean dimly lowered his head, and observed a human hand protruding from his own shadow. The hand had a secure hold of his leg. _Damn it,_ he couldn’t even make an attempt at shaking the body part free.

Valjean watched in bewilderment, as his very own shadow wiggled, and then quickly twisted itself into the shadow of a stranger. The unrecognizable hand swept the criminal clean off of his feet, and he was finally set free from the unseen shackles. Preoccupied with gathering himself physically and mentally, Valjean did not witness Javert ascending from the ground.

Valjean eventually darted his head towards the impostor, who was already preparing to chain his wrists and ankles.

Valjean shouted, ‘what the hell is going on? Oh, it’s you Javert!’

Javert said with a sleek smile, ‘You’re coming back with me, 24601.’ The young man applied some tension to the shackles as an attempt to instill fear.

Hopping to his bloodied feet, Valjean turned to flee from Javert, but quickly found himself stationary again.

Before Valjean figuratively became stone, he immediately gawked at his shadow and noticed that it had intermingled with Javert’s. The prisoner snarled, ‘What are you doing to me, Javert?’

Javert huffed, ‘Well, what does it look like? I was ordered by the warden to stop your little charade. Unfortunately, it took me quite some time to discover your whereabouts.’

‘When, did you start following me?’

‘I don’t know…twenty minutes ago?’

Valjean hissed, ‘and you didn’t stop me sooner?’

Javert merely shrugged. ‘I was just curious as to see how far Jean-le-Cric would get to tasting freedom before he would become weary. I am surprised though, to see that you had gotten this far, especially in this trying weather. Anyways, do not struggle; you will only exhaust yourself further. If you were in perfect health, and stamina, a man of your stature would have easily broken this bond.’ Without hesitation, Javert journeyed towards Valjean with the shackles at his disposal. ‘Now, let’s get you back to the bagne unscathed. It would be wise to listen to my words.’

In that moment, Valjean desperately wanted to run, but he was physically unable to try, so he complied. As quick as he possibly could, Javert constrained the older man’s wrists and ankles; and not willing to take any chances, Javert kept his shadow attached to Valjean’s, as they carefully made their way back to the bagne.

After mustering the courage to speak, Valjean shyly addressed the younger man, ‘Javert?’

‘Hmm? What do you want, 24601? Are you going to waste my time again?’

‘I…apologize for what happened yesterday, I-I do not know what came over me. Please believe me when I say that I’m truly not that kind of person. I’m not a monster.’

Javert challenged, ‘If you claim that you’re not a monster, then why the hell did you do it?’ The boy’s voice was starting to give way. It was too rough, too dry and it felt like he was swallowing nails. ‘Are you going to answer me, god damn it?’

When the guard received no answer from Valjean, he swiftly shifted his eyes to the side, focusing on the pebbles in front of him. He continued, ‘I know what you are thinking, 24601. You believe that your head is to be severed for lashing at me. Is that why you tried to escape? Don’t wet yourself, 24601, I didn’t tell anyone about our altercation.’

Valjean was taken aback. ‘What? What do you mean you didn’t tell anyone? Why would you do a silly thing like that? You young, naïve fool!’

Javert pouted. Avoiding eye contact, he said, ‘Well, to be honest, I don’t know why. I’m afraid that I cannot answer your questions regarding the matter. After what happened, I explained to the warden that us guards should be working in groups, no matter where we go, and without reason. Toulon is a dangerous place, you know?’ Then, Javert chuckled, in which sent small chills crawling down Valjean’s spine; Javert somehow managed to make the older man uncomfortable. ‘Well, 24601, I guess there’s your answer.’ The young guard concluded, ‘I’m not normally a nice guy, 24601, so don’t be expecting any more favors from me!’

Then Valjean understood. It _was_ Javert. He was the one who fed him. ‘No Monsieur Javert, I didn’t expect any favors from you at all; however, thank you for the food. It was delicious and quite…sacrificial of you to give up your own dinner.’

Javert scoffed, ‘There was nothing sacrificial about it. They just so happened to have leftovers. Jesus, the more you talk, the more I realize that I should stop doing these kinds of things. It’ll probably get me killed one day.’

Valjean didn’t believe the young man in the slightest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all those who have been reading, commenting and bookmarking. You guys are what keeps me going.
> 
> Please comment!


	4. Bagne de Toulon Part 3: Javert Frightens Valjean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javert is forced to carry out Valjean's punishment.
> 
> Chapter song: Black Vortex - Kevin Macleod https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iChhbmJBN38

It is key to have knowledge that darkness is the absence of light. It should be understood that darkness is a depiction of many things; criminals, horror, pandemics, crows, death, intimidation and nature. Literal darkness envelops us for ten hours; figurative darkness revolves in this world every second. It is constantly teasing and disorientating the senses, and causing a confusion in which we irrationally, and unhealthily question what is right and wrong. We question not only within darkness’ hallow shell, or in the world, but also in our daily lives.

Darkness pours itself into all walks of life; no one is spared. Examples are not only the rich or the poor, but also those with tame hearts and pure innocence, those who have nothing, and those who live an incredibly desperate life; they are all susceptible to the very thing that would lead them astray; however, It is what one does with that given darkness that would define them as a human being, or as a creature of wickedness. Should someone kill in order to fulfill their wants, or should someone kill in order to sustain their needs? Speaking in terms of dominance, should one subject their inferior to submission, or should they demonstrate the act of mercy? This is when the unwritten laws of man are challenged:

  1. You shall have no other gods before me,
  2. You shall not make any graven images,
  3. You shall not use the Lord’s Name in vain,
  4. Remember to keep the Sabbath day holy,
  5. Honor your father and mother,
  6. You shall not murder,
  7. You shall not commit adultery
  8. You shall not steal,
  9. You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor,
  10. And you shall not covet.



It is obvious to say that sin is another form of darkness. It taints the mind, paints healthy hearts black, and chains the soul to its burdens. Darkness resides in the rotten core of every organic being. It plays its part in nature, and as said earlier, what one does today with the power of darkness is what shapes them for the future.

The moon is watching again, but it waits behind the sun. It is readying to illuminate the soil of the earth, and to begin its eternal trade as guardian of the nightly world. The moon is a beautiful sight, bearing a radiant glow, yet it contains its own darkness.

All that being said, darkness does not have to be categorized as evil, and light does not have to contain brilliance; sometimes, the darkest of all hearts are trapped in the supposedly innocent.

Figurative darkness prevailed in the bagne de Toulon one bright afternoon:

Valjean was situated in a large room; antiques, olive-green wallpaper, and persons of higher stature surrounded him. The prisoner was kneeling on hardwood flooring, and both his ankles and wrists were still chained. Javert, who had bound Valjean three hours earlier, was standing beside him.

In the belly of Toulon’s hectic circus, Valjean, Javert and four other guards were silently minding their business inside the ringmaster’s office; Monsiieur le Commissaire. There were others keeping the commissioner company. They were wealthy people who represented all divisions of the hierarchy. These prosperous individuals were situated at the top floor of a four-storey building – commonly known as the bagne’s headquarters – with their fancy outfits, impeccable wines, and comfortable seats. Only a handful of personalities could be distinguished. In attendance were the commissioner’s protégés, the warden, the National Guard’s representative, and the Prefect of the Paris police force. They were gawking at Valjean and Javert, as if they were waiting for a funny joke.

As mentioned, the warden was well within sight. He made himself comfortable beside the commissioner. Javert’s supervisors were also in the office, but they had separated themselves from the group; they both wore worried expressions while the commissioner and his protégé’s were laughing at something unknown to Javert’s eyes and ears. Javert wondered if they were they laughing at a joke that was said absentmindedly, or if they were laughing at the guards for letting Valjean make his escape. It dawned on Javert that they could possibly be laughing at Valjean for failing a sixth time. Listening to the feeling in his gut, Javert considered their laughter to be caused by the latter.

Javert frowned. Valjean’s situation was no laughing matter. It was his sixth attempt at escaping prison, and every time he tested the guards, two more years was added onto his original five-year sentence.

When the wine was refilled, and the cheese platters were empty, serious business was finally adhered to, and the commissioner started by looking at the convict with unfeeling eyes. Valjean tried to avoid eye contact by peering over the commissioner’s shoulder. He marveled at the rays of gold bleeding into the office, gifting Toulon with both life and death.

In nature, when something dies, it sprouts new life; pine and spruce are considered great examples. Fires encase, and destroy these beautiful beasts, but reproduce with the fire’s aid; and when something is given life, Mother Nature will bid them adieu with sickness or terrible weather. The sun in Toulon would most certainly give life to beings that desperately need it, but it would also expose Valjean’s death by a means of heat stroke, or when he would be hung before the moon ignites.

Now, we must focus on the commissioner. The commissioner of the bagne was a fat man. His stomach was packed with sweets, and hard alcohol. He was an older man too; constantly losing his white hair that he claimed was the product of sleepless nights and stressful days. He didn’t want to believe the obvious fact that he was getting older; his pride usually overpowered his sensibility.

The commissioner was unkind. To be fair, he worked at a prison. He forced himself to be strict, and hid any traces of remorse; and after thirty years of psychological torture at the bagne, darkness had engulfed him and his heart had turned to stone. He was one of those people who acted ill with the darkness that they had selfishly obtained.

The commissioner took his sweet time visualizing Valjean’s files. Valjean had been kneeling for almost two hours, and his legs had fallen asleep twice; the tingling sensation was quickly making him uncomfortable.

The older man positioned behind the desk, and making odd little noises, soaked in all of the information that was placed in front of him. Decisions needed to be made on a whim, and currently, he was contemplating which of his decisions would benefit Toulon the most. There were several robust men already working in the galleys, but it seemed that no one could possibly measure up to Valjean’s brute stature.

As the bagne’s regulations state, attempted escape would get Valjean another two years added onto his sentence. This being his sixth attempt, Valjean would potentially be sentenced to work in the galleys for life, or would be condemned to death; it was hard to tell, for the commissioner was a man of few words. He wasn’t known for extraneous conversation. He preferred in getting to the heart of the matter as fast as he possibly could; after all, he was a very busy man.

The commissioner took a deep breath. He raised his head, and looked at Valjean with sad eyes, almost pitying the man for his egoistical behavior. He said:

‘Six months…hmm…you are a frustrating man, 24601, do you know that? You’ve been in my office more times than a troubled, middle-aged schoolboy. You only had six more months in Toulon, before you would have been a free man; but instead, you just…decide to throw it all away. Yes, you would have gotten your yellow ticket – so your freedom would be limited – but you would have breathed fresh air, touched grass, and would have slowly mingled back into society. So tell me, 24601, why?’

Valjean did not answer.

Shaking his head, the commissioner stamped Valjean’s file. He passed the file onto the warden seated to his right. At last, it was the moment of truth. Valjean closed his eyes, and awaited the imminent verdict.

‘Four years.’

Valjean’s eyes widened. He stuttered, ‘F-four y-y-years?’

The warden snapped, ‘Shut it, 24601.’

The commissioner responded, ‘Yes 24601, you will endure another four years of hard labor at the bagne, instead of the usual two. Don’t look at me like that, you must understand that you are far too valuable to execute. Oh, I do understand your frustration, but you tried to escape, and you are still labeled a dangerous man. We would like to get you sorted out here before we send you on your way, okay?’

Valjean bowed his head.

The commissioner continued:

‘On a different note, my department heads and I had a long discussion about what to do with you, well, how to punish you to be exact.’ Suddenly, the room was cold. ‘Everyone here agreed to give you four more years, so please, be thankful that we chose to spare your life; however, this does not mean that we will not carry out a punishment.’

_Valjean gasped. He thought, ‘what? Isn’t four extra years of slave labor in the galleys punishment enough?_ ’

The commissioner turned his attention to the young guard beside Valjean. ‘Javert?’

Javert took a small step forwards. He stood with great poise, with his hands firmly placed behind his back, making himself look taller than what he already was. Javert acknowledged, ‘Oui, Monsieur le Commissaire?’

‘Javert, I detest this felon’s charades. You did well, in finding and bringing him back to us in one piece. We have all agreed to provide you with a reward. We’ll give you the honor of delivering the punishment.’

On cue, Javert’s supervisor approached him with a large whip. Javert stared at the whip – longer than he should have – before latching onto it. Javert turned to his supervisor, and asked, ‘How many lashes, Monsieur?’

Javert’s superior opened his mouth, but the commissioner interjected before a word could be released from his tongue.

‘Javert, it is not necessary. He shall not be whipped.’

Javert raised a brow. He was curious as to where this conversation was going. ‘Monsieur le Commissaire, if not flogging, then what would you have me do with no weapon?’

‘Frighten him.’

Javert’s stomach plummeted six feet. He said, shaking, ‘Frighten, sir? Forgive me Monsieur, but frightening is inhumane! It’s against my moral laws. I cannot frighten him, he will go mad!’

The commissioner said, ‘I do not care. It is a punishment well deserved. If you fail to follow through with my orders, you will be terminated, and your hopes of becoming a prospect for the Paris police force will be gone from your reach.’ The commissioner then leaned over his desk and said to a man sitting on the far left. ‘Isn’t that right, Monsieur le Prefect?’

Javert directed his attention towards an extremely old man in uniform. He was sweating at the forehead while wearing a melancholy expression. The prefect’s gruff voice answered, ‘we shall see, Monsieur le Commissaire. If the boy says that frightening is a heartless act, then I have my doubts of liking it. Not all of us have a hard on for other’s suffering like you do.’

The commissioner retorted, ‘Maybe if you’d take the time to watch, Monseuir le Prefect, then you may change your mind,’

The prefect barked, ‘I write my own laws at the prefecture as you write your own at the bagne. Leave me be with my own decisions.’

Javert lightly pleaded, ‘Please, Monsieur le Commissaire. Don’t make me do this.’

Annoyed, the commissioner said, ‘Do it, child. It may be against your own ideals, but you are in Toulon. It is different. Consider this an unwritten law. Do you understand?’

Javert muttered, ‘Yes, Monsiuer le Commissaire.’

The commissioner assured, ‘Javert, if there are repercussions, I will be the one to blame.’

Then, Javert released the whip before turning to face Valjean; the weapon clattered at his feet. He said, ‘Yes, sir,’ in a way that was very uncharacteristic of Javert.

Carrying out his duty, Javert gradually approached Valjean, whilst inner conflict was eating the young guard alive. This was not right, but it was his obligation to the bagne. There were important figures watching him, including the prefect; and going against the commissioner would ruin his chances of escaping the rat’s nest that he was destined for.

Valjean watched Javert near him with an unknown fear in his eyes. Valjean didn't know what to fear, and what to expect of that fear, but if what Javert stated was the truth, then he knew that it was going to hurt.

Javert reached for Valjean, but the convict struggled, doing his best to avoid the younger man's touch. Having enough of Valjean's antics, Javert grasped the notorious felon's upper arm, and drew him close to his lean body. Valjean was bound, the door was locked, and nameless guards were defending all existing exits. Valjean couldn't run; the system was foolproof. It was hopeless. He must accept what was to happen in order to be square with the house again.

Javert stared at the wall nearest to him. He hesitated; he didn't want to do this, but he had no other choice.

Valjean shook. Then, he looked up at Javert, and said, 'What are you going to do to me?'

'Frighten you,' Javert said, 'You will look into my eyes, and you will see…things.'

'Things?'

Javert gave a curt nod. 'Yes, and those “things” won't be pretty.'

Javert then handled the back of Valjean's head. He twisted his fingers into the older man's tangled hair. Then, he pulled down, forcing Valjean to gawk at the ceiling.

Javert entered the convict’s line of sight. He was staring down at him. Now callous, the guard said, 'Look into my eyes, 24601.'

Valjean obeyed the young man. In a matter of seconds, terrible waves of pain washed over him. Valjean’s bones, muscles and veins convulsed, yet, his body was as still as a statue. He then noticed that Javert had suddenly vanished, and that the ceiling had been replaced by pitch-black darkness. Stars, the moon, or any other source of light was nonexistent in this desolate place.

Suddenly, Valjean’s body stopped shaking, and the pain subsided substantially. After examining his surroundings, he figured that he was in some sort of dimension that was separate from reality. The convict’s hands, and ankles were still tied together, but he now had control of his body. Valjean glanced downwards, and observed solid ground; dirt was making its way underneath his toenails. He scanned the area again, but found nothing, other than darkness.

Then, a voice called from behind.

'Valjean.’

Without hesitation, Valjean turned his body to face the ominous voice; he observed a familiar man standing before him. It was Javert, but he was…different. He was still a tall, and lean man, and he was wearing a guard’s uniform, but the head portion of his body was a terrifying sight.

Valjean's eyes were as wide as saucers, as he further examined Javert’s facial area. The guard’s black eyes now contained an orange hue, and they were ready to pierce through Valjean like sharp knives. They were also unnaturally big, and his eyelids were surrounded by shadow, giving one the impression that they were ready to pop out of their sockets. His nose was larger, crooked, and was protruding from his face like the snout of a horse or maybe a wolf.

Javert's sly mouth was a waking nightmare. His top lip started underneath his nostrils, and his bottom lip reached his delicate chin; the corners of Javert’s mouth were stretched to back of his decaying ears. The man’s teeth and receding gums were more profound and sticking out. His teeth were long and yellow, and his maroon colored gums were bleeding.

Javert’s ponytail was no longer wrapped in string, and his hair – that once reached the length of his shoulders – had now stopped just below his spine; and lastly, the boy’s black hair had changed into a brilliant white.

Before Valjean could utter a sound, his entire world morphed into a black and white setting. The color had washed out of Javert; and he looked as if he were an illustration that was waiting to be painted by a mental artist. Valjean didn’t have to look at his own body to confirm that the color had seeped out of him too.

Valjean then made the horrid mistake of making eye contact with Javert, for the intense pain retuned, metaphorically setting his body on fire. The older man screamed as the image of this “nightmarish Javert” burned into his memory.

When the pain declined, Valjean collapsed on his side. Once the convict’s body gathered enough strength, he returned into a kneeling position, but was abruptly greeted by an unknown creature.

It too, was frightening. The creature consisted of three animals: the head of a boar, the body of a wolf and the tail of a horse; it was also huge. The boar was spilling blood at its mouth, the wolf’s legs were rotting, and the horse’s tangled tail cut through the stale air with a wicked grace. The nightmarish creature standing in front of Valjean, said to him, '24601, what are you afraid of?'

Valjean was petrified. No words could escape his lips.

The creature said, 'are you afraid of me?'

Again, Valjean did not answer.

Using all of the strength that it could muster, the demon raised its nose into the air, and gave a high-pitched squeal; Vajean screamed alongside the creature. His ears started to bleed when the shrieking waded. Then, the ground shook. Valjean attempted to escape the vicinity of where the creature stood, but his body was quickly pinned to the dirt by an invisible force.

Javert was looking down at him again. Valjean cried for help. –

'Stop this madness!'

Journeying back into reality, Javert looked over his shoulder to see the prefect of police standing erect from his chair. Javert said, puzzled, 'Monsiuer?'

The prefect shouted, ‘I demand to know what you did to the convict!'

Javert heard a mixture of gurgling and screaming at his feet. Valjean was flat on his back, twisting and turning his torso; his face was contorting itself into various sick expressions. His eyes were staring into oblivion, and he was foaming at the mouth. Javert pouted. The sight was pitiful. The young man looked back at the prefect, and answered in a calm tone of voice, 'I scared him. I sent 24601’s mind into another dimension. He observed obscene images that you or I cannot see without being there. The man feels pain, physically and psychologically.'

The prefect sneered, 'Well. I don't like it.'

Javert kindly responded, ‘Monsieur le Prefect, do you truly believe that I enjoyed that? I hated every second of it.’

The prefect said, ‘Will the pain go away?'

Javert shifted his eyes back to Valjean, who was still screaming hysterically, whilst vibrating on the floor. He said, 'It may be days, it may be years, it may be forever, some even die; every person is different, but this prisoner is a strong one. Presently, he is unable to work, but I predict that his fright will be gone by Sunday.'

Valjean stopped. He had lost his voice, but he continued to breathe heavily.

The prefect continued:

‘As you know, I represent the prefecture of Paris,’ a pause, ‘and they told me about you. They can’t shut up about you. They looked at your application and deemed you a suitable candidate as a gendarme, and as a means of change, whatever that means. Well, I wanted to see you for myself, to see why they kneel before you. I’ve never recruited a shadow before, but I heard from the little birdie to my right that you are adamant in joining the force, and that I should consider you a prospect for the prefecture,’ The prefect neared Javert, ‘but I don’t like shadows and Romani’s to begin with, and I certainly don't want one who does _that!’_ The prefect aimed a finger at a Valjean. 'I don’t want that near my station, you hear? This is evil; this is torture; and you're evil for following the commissioner’s order in the first place!'

Javert panicked. 'I am not evil, Monsieur. Please, I was forced to frighten the convict. I cannot.'-

The commissioner exclaimed, 'Monsieur le Prefect, please. The young man was only doing his duty. He is dedicated to his superiors, completes his orders to the best of his abilities, and is a very intelligent being. Just because he’s a shadow, and a Romani, doesn’t mean-‘

'Monsieur le Commissaire, a Toulon convict is one thing, but an innocent civilian is a different matter. Over the years, I have come across several shadows, and they are all the same. They’re destined to die in the gutter, and no matter how hard they try, at the end of the day, they are unable to control their powers. Their dark abilities wind up swallowing them whole, and when they die, they take others along with them. Gendarmes work on the streets. I cannot have a shadow that is unable to control the thing that he is, working on the streets; I cannot have him pretending. I am afraid that he’ll end up torturing honest men. The Paris police force bears honor. Even the thought of frightening potential criminals is a cruel act. We are above that.’

Javert retorted, 'Forgive me Monsieur le Prefect, but if you think that I would frighten for the thrill then you are terribly mistaken; I hated it. I only did it, because if I refused Monsieur le Commissaire, I would no longer have a job and would no longer have a future.’

The prefect replied, ‘every officer in Paris has honor. I would have preferred refusal. If you would have said 'no' to Monsieur le Commissaire, then I might have considered you a candidate.'

Javert looked away. He wore his pride with confidence. It took years to build up that confidence, yet it only took seconds for it to crumble. To make matters worse, there were many important witnesses surrounding him; he was ruined. They would surely label him as a failure. 'May I be dismissed, Monsieur le Commissaire? There is much work to be done.'

'Yes, Javert, you may go.'-

Valjean hopped to his feet once the office door was opened. He attempted to flee, even with chains binding his wrists and ankles. Javert shifted his body, and quickly attached his shadow to the convict’s, forcing immobility. Once again, Valjean was unable to move. Javert said:

‘Don’t struggle, 24601. You are in bad enough shape as it is.’ Javert wondered if Valjean had heard him, but the older man appeared to be too far-gone to have acknowledged his words. The young guard placed a hand on Valjean’s shoulder, as an act of reassurance, and with the help of two other guards, they supported the large man as they hobbled out of the commissioner’s office. Javert closed the door as they took their leave.

An unfamiliar voice spoke, ‘Why did you do that, Arthur?’

The prefect turned around to look at his protégé, who stood firmly behind him with certain elegance. Like his superior, he was dressed in a uniform that displayed his power within the prefecture. Comparing the man to Javert, he was taller, more muscular, and acquired a lighter complexion. His hair was shorter and a chestnut brown. His facial features were so sharp, that with one swipe of the hand, you could deeply wound it. The man was also older than Javert, approximately twelve years. For now, there was not much more to say about the man, as we would greet him at a later point in the story.

The younger man was sympathetic sometimes. He understood that his superior only wanted what was in the prefecture’s best interest, but sometimes, he needed to add diversity to his far from perfect team of gendarmes. The protégé came to the conclusion that the old man was afraid of change.

‘You embarrassed the poor boy. He had a goal to free himself of the gutter, and yet, you crushed it like a bug.’

The prefect stated, ‘we live in a cruel world, Monsieur. The boy has now learned that. I’m sure he’ll find something else to keep him occupied.’

The protégé shook his head. He said, ‘you lied to the young man, Arthur. Even if he would have refused Monsieur le Commissaire’s orders, you were still going to reject him. You wouldn’t stop complaining about him the entire carriage ride here. Old hag, you don’t have an open mind. An open heart is even foreign to you.’-

‘Watch your mouth! I like you, don’t force me dismiss you.’

‘You’re delusional, and you’re afraid. Open your eyes. Did you even see what he just did?’

The prefect scoffed, ‘Of course, he tortured a man.’

‘No, not that,’ said the protégé. ‘He stopped the man from running by merging his shadow with the convict’s. As you and I both know, scandalous persons are experts in running. We _need_ someone who can exceed the skills of a criminal. Although I agree with the fact that torturing one is a terrible act, I can’t help, but drool over his other abilities. Monsiuer le Prefect, please offer him a chance, and if he doesn’t meet your requirements, then you can reject him as you see fit.’

‘My decision is final,’ said the prefect, looking away, ‘I refuse to hire him.’

Frustrated, the protégé turned to the commissioner. He said, ‘Monsieur le Commissaire, may I be dismissed?’

The commissioner nodded, ‘Yes, you may go.’

And so the man left the office, slamming the door on the way out.

 

* * *

 

Javert was isolated from the rest of the party in the bagne’s headquarters, sitting on a bench made of stone with his head between his thighs. Toulon’s aggressive weather was starting to wear him out, and the fact that he may be thrown back into the dark streets did not ease his mind either. Javert loathed the gutter, who wouldn’t? He detested the people looming in that wicked society, and what they represented; but what did it matter now? Freedom had brushed at his fingertips once, and now it was lost forever. Maybe he should consider jumping off a cliff somewhere, where they wouldn’t be able to locate his body. It was better than rotting in jail.

‘Monsieur, Javert!’

Javert’s ears perked. He looked to where the uncommon voice had shouted his name, and observed the man who had accompanied the prefect of Paris, running towards him. ‘Monsieur Javert, are you well? You look absolutely terrible.’

Javert asked, ‘Who’re you?’

The man stopped. He said, ‘Monsieur Javert, the prefect and I represent the prefecture of Paris. I am the prefect’s protégé, or as he likes to call me, his secretary and personal assistant.’

‘Oh, what is it that you want, Monsieur?’

‘On behalf of the Prefect, I would like to sincerely apologize for what happened back there. He had no reason to undress your uniform like that, nor did he have the right to insult your character; you are not under his command, so he should have had more respect than what he had displayed. If he were to scold anyone, he should have reprimanded your boss, who clearly stated that he was ultimately the one responsible for your actions.’ He slightly chuckled, ‘as you can clearly see, we’re not fans of the commissioner.’

The young guard agreed. ‘To be honest, neither am I.’ Javert was not one to gossip, or complain, but sometimes, he couldn’t help expressing his thoughts out loud to someone with the same ideals. ‘Forcing me to do something like that to another person as a means of punishment, is not just.’

‘It’s not kind,’ said the protégé.

Javert corrected, ‘It’s easy to be kind, Monsieur. It’s harder to be just, and what happened in the commissioner’s office was not a justified penalty. Your superior was right.’

‘Javert, right or not, the prefect was wrong to have embarrassed you in front of everybody like that.’

Uncomfortable, Javert shifted his eyes to the floor. He wished that the man in front of him would just go away. He needed water, shade, and a serene environment. ‘Your apology is accepted.’

The protégé of the prefect laughed, ‘you are a bad liar. Do you know that, Javert?’

‘People have informed me.’

The older man reached into the pocket of his uniform, and pulled out a small, yet thick piece of parchment. He said, ‘I have something for you.’

He gave the paper to Javert. Upon further inspection, Javert determined that the item was a business card. The card revealed company information regarding the prefecture of Paris. Javert read the name displayed the card. ‘Henri Gisquet…is that you?’

‘Oh, my apologies, I should have properly introduced myself. Yes, I am Henri Gisquet, and I have a proposition for you.’

‘A proposition?’

‘Paris’ current prefect is an old man, set on old ways. He…well…doesn’t like people who are different. You are Romani, as well as a shadow, but that’s beside the point.

I come to the bagne at least once a month to gather some paperwork for the prefecture, and from time to time, I have seen you around. When I caught wind from the commissioner that you were interested in being a police officer, I couldn’t help, but approach your superior to gather more information. He gave me your daily reports, and informed me that you listen to your superiors without question, that you often reprimand yourself if you consider yourself to have failed in your duty, and that you rectify your failures. He told me that you work hard, that you are intelligent man, as well as gifted. Aside from today, I’ve never seen you use your abilities for ill intent.

Now, I’m sorry if I touch a wrong chord, but I take the prefect’s side completely, when stating that what you did to the convict was wrong; however, despite that evil, I was rather impressed on how you managed to stop the prisoner attempting another escape through the door; that peaked my interest.

In four years, I would like you to send me a telegram. Around that time, the prefect will retire, and I will be the one taking his place. Four years in the bagne will get you more experience with criminals, and hopefully desensitize you. It will also give you some time to mature, and time to control the darkness within your soul. I too, have met many shadows, and like the prefect had said, they all ended up dying very young and on the streets; but I have a feeling that you would make a good officer, as long as you refrain from showing your worst.’

Shocked, Javert said, ‘Thank you, Monsieur.’ He gawked back at the card. ‘This means a lot. I am in your debt.’

Gisquet smiled. ‘There is no debt between us.’ Then, he clasped his hands together, and said, ‘Splendid, I shall come back to Toulon in a month’s time, and observe your productivity.’-

‘Monsieur Gisquet, I have a request.’

‘Yes, Monsieur Javert?’

‘Seven years ago, an acquaintance of mine was murdered.’

Gisquet grimaced. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

Javert looked at his boots as he spoke, ‘He was a gendarme in Paris, and unfortunately, I did not catch his name. Do you think that someone at the station would be able to identify him for me?’

‘Well, Monsieur Javert, you must provide me with the details. What did he look like? How did he die? When did he die, things like that. Gendarmes working in Paris get killed in the line of duty every day. You must separate him from the rest of the lot.’

Javert said, ‘Seven years…it’s been so long, Monsieur.’

‘Well, I’ll take your request into consideration, okay? Now, go find a drink of water, and some shade to cool you down from this wretched heat. Goodbye, Monsieur Javert. We’ll talk in four years time.’

When Gisquet had completely vanished from the vicinity, Javert murmured, ‘Javert, you lucky fuck. One day, your luck will run out.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment below.


	5. M-Sur-M Part 1: Saturated Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javert and Madeleine's 'friendly chats' are awkward as hell. Their conversations may be dry, but the tea is not.
> 
> Chapter Song: Neksus - Lights Out https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sf2Zsayxi5M

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valjean will now be addressed as M. Madeleine in the M-Sur-M universe.

The mayor of Montreuil Sur Mer stood erect behind the curtains of his office window, silently gazing upon the crowded streets three stories below his feet. Today was a glorious day; the weather was riding on the city’s good side today, with a slight overcast looming overhead. Monsieur Madeleine shifted his eyes to the partially cloudy sky. He noticed that the clouds were round like a mother’s breasts. It was a beautiful, yet strange sight, but it only meant terrible weather later that night. It was certain that there would be a thunderstorm that evening.

Monsieur Madeleine shifted his gaze back onto M-Sur-M’s city square; the square was bustling with feverish activity. The city was undergoing preparations for the annual carnival that took place during the last week of August, and they were always behind schedule. Not only that, but a severe thunderstorm was brewing; the volunteers were under tremendous pressure to get as much done before they would be in the middle of a heavy downpour. Sometimes, the mayor wished that the committee would take a deep breath. He hated to see them so stressed; it would create sickness and it would create mistakes. In that moment, Madeleine winced when he observed an overly anxious man trip over a piece of plywood, resulting in a pavement burn along the left side of his face, and a bloodied eye.

Although hectic, it would be safe to say that the carnival was to begin soon; the festivities would begin tomorrow evening. There would be music, enjoyable activities, delicious foods from the local restaurants, artists and much more, striving to keep the residents and visitors occupied and entertained for three days. The carnival was a splendid way for the community to gather as one, even if it often caused mischief during that three-day period. The mayor wasn’t worried, for he knew that the gendarme working under his power would be pleased to make those arrests. His gendarme acted like savage dogs, and when given the order from their master, they would attack their prey with little mercy and wouldn’t dare let go.

There was a knock at his office door, which instantly pulled the mayor out of his wandering thoughts. At that moment, he realized that there were more important matters to adhere to; mostly imminent paperwork awaited him at his desk, but Madeleine was expecting an important visitor, who was planning to reside in the city, due to work circumstances. Madeleine was excited to meet the newcomer, but in an unfortunate context; for now, he would just have to force a smile.

His visitor was a police officer, recently promoted by the Prefecture of Paris. Gendarmes in general made the mayor queasy, and it was bad enough that he had to walk alongside them everyday. Whoever the expected gendarme was, Madeleine only hoped that the man would not recognize his face.

Last month, M-Sur-M’s chief inspector had qualified for retirement, and was granted his leave. Ever since the inspector’s departure, crime had inflated significantly, and the mayor demanded some reassurance from the prefecture that a qualified inspector could decrease the crime rate to an all time low within a week’s time. Surely, it was too much to ask, but after a month of neglect, the situation had gotten out of hand. The prefecture wrote back, stating that they had the most qualified person for the job, and that they would complete their temporary duty to the best of their ability.

The knock sounded once more. The mayor turned his head towards the door, and lightly shouted, ‘Come in.’

Then the door swung open, and a tall figure emerged into the mayor’s office. The individual quietly made his way into the middle of the room. The mayor’s nervous assistant, made sure that the mayor had acknowledged his visitor before closing the door. ‘Monsieur le Maire, the inspector is here.’

The mayor took a quick glance at the man standing before him. He gasped, realizing exactly who was in his presence.

They had hired Javert. The mayor sighed, while wearing a worried expression. He said internally, _‘Just when everything was going so well.’_ Javert and he shared a past that was not all sunshine and rainbows.

As Madeleine examined Javert, he couldn’t help, but notice how much Javert had grown; he was no longer a scrawny boy, he was a man. His features were more sharp and profound, but he hardly changed – appearance wise – since Toulon. There were slight differences, including: Longer hair, whiskers running down either side of his face, and his uniform. He was now an officer of the law, not a mere guard who was often considered a dime a dozen. he strived to make a name for himself. Last year, the gendarme’s uniforms were updated, but Javert’s was hard to observe, for Javert’s black, double-breasted greatcoat covered it. Accessorizing his intimidating look were a pair of black boots with a slight heel, along with a hair queue, and a dark, navy ribbon attached to his stock collar. He also carried a top hat, in which he was caressing in his arms as a genuine gesture of respect.

Javert scowled, and it chilled Madeleine to the bone; however, he managed to stay calm, for he could not afford to falter. He considered Javert a dangerous man; a force of nature; and Madeleine’s gut told him that Javert probably knew everything pertaining to his true identity as the notorious Jean Valjean. One slip up, and it was all over for the mayor. Keeping a steady composure, Madeleine said, ‘Good morning, Monsieur. I am Madeleine, the mayor of this town, Montreuil-Sur-Mer.’

Madeleine approached his former jailer with confidence, and offered the younger man his hand, as a means of a warm welcome. The mayor continued, speaking with a slight smile, ‘Welcome to M-Sur-M, inspector. I can only hope that you will be comfortable during your stay here.’

Javert accepted the Mayor’s friendly gesture, and firmly shook his hand. ‘I’m inspector Javert.’ He raised a hand to the level of his chest. He then said, ‘before you say anything, I can assure you that the city is now in safe hands. The prefecture had informed me of M-Sur-M’s situation, and I’ve read the reports. Crime is on the rise here, am I correct?’

The mayor acknowledged, ‘I’m afraid so, inspector. As you’ve been informed, our previous chief gendarme had retired about a month ago. In the last four years, his lack of passion for his job was showing; he stopped caring. As a result, the police here were disorganized, maybe dysfunctional, and the criminals lurking about took advantage of their laziness. It got out of hand in the last month, inspector, and I was desperate.’

Javert nodded. He said, ‘I see, Monsieur le Maire. I’ll gather all of the reports, and your notes, and I’ll see what I can do to improve things around here. I guarantee that you will see major changes by Monday.’

Madeleine questioned, ‘Inspector, will you inform me of these changes? Of what you are planning?’

‘Of course Monsieur le Maire, I will include you in these matters, when I give you my daily report.’

Madeleine cocked his head to the side. The sound of Javert labeling the mayor with a formal title was odd, he wouldn’t be able to get used to such an act. The younger man in the room was once Madeleine’s jailer, and it was Javert of whom he was forced to answer to for many years. At last the tables have turned, and world momentarily went upside down. Deep down inside, there was something uneasy boiling inside of Madeleine, tempting him to break the man’s neck, as vengeance for what Javert had done to him in the bagne. Madeleine never forgot the lashes from the guards, or the darkening sensations that invaded his mind and temporarily made him go insane; however, he reminded himself that he wasn’t Jean le Cric anymore; he was not a monster. He was set on a path with God, so forgiveness unfortunately came with the package.

Madeleine rubbed his hands together. He then said while pointing to a chair, ‘Inspector, please make yourself comfortable, I insist. Let me fetch us some tea for some casual conversation.’

Javert replied, ‘Tea will not be necessary, Monsieur le Maire. Much preparation is to be completed before the clock strikes five. I have work to do. Crime never sleeps, you know?’

‘Inspector, you just got here! You’ve traveled far; all the way from Paris too, and so you must be tired. Please, sit for a while. Let us talk. I would like to get to know you more.’ The mayor couldn’t believe the things that were spewing out of his mouth. Truly, he wanted Javert out of his office, but for some odd reason, he pleaded for the man to stay. Maybe he was convincing Javert of the façade that he was displaying; an older, humble, and polite gentleman was Monsieur Madeleine.

After much pleading, Javert finally gave in to the mayor’s annoying persistence. ‘Fine Monsieur le Maire, I’ll settle for some of your…tea…’

The emotionless inspector claimed the chair across from the mayor. As habit, he absentmindedly crossed his legs and folded his arms across his chest. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head downwards, and said, ‘… and then, I must head back to the station.’

Madeleine chortled, ‘Inspector, I’ve heard from the prefecture that you are a motivated individual. You are dedicated, and complete your duty without question.’ Of course, the mayor already knew these things about Javert, but playing the part was key to his survival.

Javert said, ‘I must be, then.’ He sighed, ‘I am merely appreciative of what I have been given. It hasn’t been easy.’     

The mayor then sauntered to his office door. He opened it and took a quick glance into the neighboring room. After finding his loyal assistant, he mentioned that the boy should make them some excellent tea as soon as possible. He also said, ‘and remember to knock when it’s ready. There’s important discussion inside my office, and I can’t afford to have you eavesdropping.’

Naturally, the assistant behind his desk asked what kind of tea he should prepare. Madeleine responded, saying, ‘Surprise me, Frances.’

Madeleine closed the door. He took a deep breath, before returning to his desk, to greet Javert once more. He continued:

‘So, Javert, You were stationed by contract under the order of the prefect back in Paris. I do wonder, why M-sur-M?’

Javert answered his superior without hesitation, ‘I recently got promoted, Monsieur le Maire. Getting some experience here as M-Sur-M’s head inspector would surely do both me and the city some good.’

Madeleine turned his back to Javert, and stared out of his grand office window. He gawked at the bumpy clouds as he said, ‘your time here in M-Sur-M won’t be long, I reckon. You are tied to a two year contract?’

Javert gave a curt nod. His arms and legs were still crossed, and he stared at the mayor with a cold gaze. ‘For now; however, if I do a good job, I may be stationed here permanently.’

Madeleine’s eyes bulged. He started to sweat profusely. He thanked the Lord that Javert did not see his reaction through the window’s reflection, for possible suspicions would arise.

Javert continued, ‘That’s if you accept my application, Monsieur le Maire.’

Madeleine shook his head. He said with a forced smile, ‘We’ll see to your fate when the time comes.’

Minutes of awkward silence passed, and a knock became present at the door. After, Madeleine’s assistant arrived with a teapot, two teacups, cream and sugar. ‘Monsieur le Maire, I have your refreshments.’

The mayor smiled, ‘Wonderful, Frances. Set it right here, please.’ Madeleine hoped that the tea would stimulate Javert like alcohol would any human, and make him talk more frequently.

When Madeleine’s assistant left the room, and quietly closed the office door, Madeleine resumed his gentlemanly behavior by preparing Javert’s cup of tea. Then he asked the old age question, ‘Do you take anything in your tea, Inspector?’

Javert dismissed the mayor’s question. ‘Give it here,’ he said. With a raised brow, Madeleine placed Javert’s black tea at the edge of the desk that was closest to the police officer. Javert gently lifted the tea, and quietly reached for the tray. ‘Sugar, please.’

The mayor nodded before giving the jar of sugar to Javert. When the cup was in the officer’s grasp, he quickly tilted the cup with a neutral face. Madeleine gasped as he watched a gushing river of sugar flowing out, and landing into Javert’s tea; this intensified the sweetness no doubt.

The mayor stuttered, ‘J-J-Javert? What’re you doing? You’re ruining the tea.’

Javert said, ‘I can’t afford sugar, Monsieur le Maire, so this is considered a delicacy for me.’

Madeleine retorted, ‘It doesn’t mean that you have to saturate your drink with it. God Javert, why are you still pouring? Stop it, you’ll get sick!’-

‘Monsieur le Maire, I hate black tea. Unfortunately, I had the opportunity to drink it for the majority of my life. That being said, I hate it so much that I would gladly put mustard in, just to rid of its taste. Sugar is much better than mustard, I suppose.’

‘So, you have a bit of a sweet tooth,’ said Madeleine. Then, as the mayor prepared his own tea, he said internally, ‘ _Just a bit of a sweet tooth? How about a lot! I’ve never seen a person put so much sugar in their drink.’_

When Javert’s tea was to his liking, he placed the jar of sweetness aside, and said, ‘Merci, Monsieur le Maire.’

After a couple of minutes of drinking, the mayor attempted to make conversation, ‘So, Inspector, did you have decent weather during your travels?’-

‘Forgive me, Monsieur le Maire, but I believe that there are more important matters to discuss. As we both know, the inspector before me had slacked off. He left a mess for my officers and I to clean up. As I examined the prefecture’s reports upon arriving here, I noticed that M-Sur-M’s crime rate has increased significantly in the last month, and this issue needs to be addressed. Things need to be changed…’ Javert shimmied his hand into the pocket of his greatcoat, and soon revealed a sealed envelope engraved with brilliant penmanship. ‘…I brought along some useful thoughts and strategies that we officers will be using in order to bring down those atrocious numbers. I’-

The mayor spun on his heel, and said to Javert with another forced smile. ‘Forgive me, inspector, can we not talk about this?’

‘Why, Monsieur le Maire?’

The older man shrugged, ‘because I would like to get to know you as a person.’

Javert sipped his overly sweetened tea. ‘What’s there to talk about, Monsieur? I’m just an inspector, wanting to do my job to the best of my ability.’

Madeleine grumbled, ‘so you’re just an inspector. There’s nothing else that I should know about you?’

‘No.’

Madeleine was puzzled. He already knew the truth about Javert, the ‘secret’ that he kept, and what he was; he had known in Toulon for many years. After slight amazement, and careful thoughts, Madeleine came to the conclusion that Javert was going to keep quiet about his abilities, unless he was forced to come out…unless he managed to snap like a twig. The older man knew that Javert was a rather private man, and Madeleine respected that. Although what Javert did to him – so many years ago – was cruel, there was no room for vengeance. After being frightened, a few days later Madeleine had successfully recovered; nothing had changed, except for the fact that he always remembered the pain that he had endured. The mayor asked again, ‘There’s nothing about yourself that you wish to discuss with me?’

Javert took another sip of tea, creating an unnecessary pregnant pause. After lowering the cup, and taking a deep breath, Javert replied, ‘No.’

The mayor shook his head. ‘You’re not much of a talker, inspector.’

Javert then proceeded to scratch the side of his head with a lone finger. He said, almost embarrassed, ‘but Monsieur le Maire…I do have a couple of…requests.’

‘Oh?’ Madeleine said, raising a brow, ‘and that is?’

Javert cleared his throat. ‘I will start work in the afternoons, and end my shift at six in the morning. I will be giving you my daily report at the end of each working day, at approximately five o’clock.’ He cleared his throat again, ‘Hopefully, all of this won’t be a problem.’

The mayor blinked. ‘It shouldn’t be, inspector. ‘Tell me, is there a particular reason why you want to do the graveyard shift? You like it that much, as you would go so far as to request it?’

Javert smirked, ‘It’s a preference, Monsieur le Maire.’

‘And what if you are forced to work during the day?’

‘I’ll manage.’

Madeleine nodded. ‘No Javert, this won’t be a problem.’

‘Good, now,’ Javert said, as he dropped the envelope onto the mayor’s desk. He pushed it forwards; making sure that it was in Madeleine’s safe keeping. ‘…Since you don’t want to talk about business, would it be plausible to discuss police matters at a later date? Does Friday work for you?’

‘…Uh…Friday is perfect.’

Javert then turned his head to face the window. From a distance, he could faintly see people frantically working in the square. They were building something. He said, ‘what are they doing? Forgive me…I am…unfamiliar of what activities happen here.’

Madeleine quickly explained, ‘It’s all right, Javert. You see M-Sur-M hosts a three-day carnival once a year. There’s lots of food, candy, dancing and entertainment. It’s quite a spectacle. Oh, I didn’t mention that there are fireworks too.’

Javert continued to ominously stare out of the office window. He murmured, ‘I’ve never been to a carnival before.’

‘No?’

‘I don’t have the time for such nonsense.’ His eyes widened. ‘Oh, I just had a thought. I should ask you how high the crime rate was for this event last year? There’s no doubt that there will be trouble.’

‘My, Javert, you really are passionate about your work. Um…’ The mayor nervously rubbed the back of his neck. He was afraid to give a man like Javert an honest answer. ‘…Uh, well, last year was a little bit of a handful for the gendarme. Please, before you say anything, remember that the previous inspector failed to do his job appropriately at-‘

Javert interrupted, ‘Yes, I know. He left a mess, but I don’t think that your previous head inspector of M-Sur-M was t _hat_ bad. I think he was just tired. It tends to happen as one gets older.’ The younger man chuckled unnaturally, ‘Saying that, I can’t speak for myself, but a lot of my older co-workers who on the verge of retirement, feel the exact same way. A gendarme’s job is hard, you see?’ Javert jabbed a finger at the jar of sugar on Madeleine’s desk. He said, ‘More sugar please.’

‘Javert, your drink has so much sugar in it, that it has turned into sludge. I don’t think that you need more.’

Irritated, Javert chugged his cold tea until it was bone dry. After, he placed the teacup on the table, and shot up out of his seat. He said, ‘I must be going now, Monsieur le Maire. Thank you for the tea. You’ve made me most welcome. We’ll do this again on Friday.’

‘My pleasure, inspector.’

‘Will you remember to look at my notes?’

Madeleine waved as he slapped his chest, indicating where he had placed the envelope. ‘Do not worry, Javert. I shall take a look at them later tonight.’

‘Then I must say goodnight, Monsieur le Maire.’

‘Enjoy the rest of your day, inspector.’

When Javert bid adieu, Madeleine quickly made his escape to the window. He looked through the pane and observed Javert wandering in the direction of where the police station resided. The mayor was in trouble. If anyone would know his true identity, it would be Javert. Madeleine may have gotten away with his lie today, but sooner or later, Javert would realize that the mayor of M-Sur-M was an escaped convict. Madeleine persuaded himself to stay calm and collected at all times around Javert, but who knew how long that would last before the past would start slipping off of his tongue. Maybe he should get rid of Javert, before Javert would see it fit to arrest him, and send him back to the galleys.

‘What a wonderful idea, Valjean,’ Madeleine whispered, ‘I’ll get rid of Javert. I’ll make him leave town…somehow.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please drop a comment below!


	6. M-Sur-M Part 2: The Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madeleine hires someone to spy on Javert.  
> Javert tries to spy on some smugglers.
> 
> Chapter song: Flight Hymn - Ross Bugden  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XCr0bsng60Y

Madeleine observed Javert. All hours of the day, his direct attention was focused on the most dangerous man in town, regarding Madeleine himself. He carefully watched Javert during the man’s afternoon shifts, during his daily reports, and throughout the evenings and the majority of the nights, looking for the slightest of signs that Javert was acknowledging who he was by using his powers. Unfortunately, his attempts were to no avail. After a week, Madeleine had almost given up, no matter how hard the man tried, it seemed that the young gendarme could see from all angles, and caught the mayor strangely looking at him several times. The officer was careful now, knowing that something was going on without his knowledge, but he refused to address it. Maybe it was mere paranoia, so Javert brushed it off his shoulder without a second thought, and continued to honor his duty.

In regards to duty, Madeleine deduced not only that Javert was not keen on using his powers at all in Montreuil-Sur-Mer, but also figured that the man was not prone to starvation and restlessness. It seemed like the man never ate, drank or slept, because of his dedication to his occupation. To Javert, a gendarme, bearing the title of Inspector was an honor that he must fulfill; maybe it was just who Javert was, or maybe it was something more.

However, the mayor was opposite to Javert when stating the basic necessities of life. During the hectic carnival, he thought for sure that Javert would have done something extraordinary in the many arrests that he had committed, but nothing of value was displayed. A simple tackle, the cuffing of their wrists, and stating their rights under the influence of the monarchy, was the most excitement Madeleine would ever get. When the somewhat successful carnival had ended for the year, the mayor slumped onto his bed, and muffled some words into his pillow. After, he would stare ominously at the candlesticks above the mantle in the bedroom, and ponder into deep thought.

He needed to rid of Javert, before he himself were found out, but his many attempts were unsuccessful, and sometimes ended in complete embarrassment; but after every failure, the more he worried. As with every convict, he hated Toulon, he hated the galleys. Javert was a very intellectual human, which in time, Madeleine was sure that the gendarme would exploit his own secret. There were many ways to rid of Javert. The first was to terminate him from his duty, but under what conditions? The gendarme did not abuse his position, and did the best that he could every single day of every waking minute. Even if the mayor did send Javert back to Paris under false pretense, the inspector would be sure to appeal, and ultimately, his plan would backfire. The prefecture would then be the one to figure him out, and that was worse than Javert.

Another option would be to expose him for who he really is, a shadow. It wasn’t right for the young officer to hide his other self, for it wasn’t fair to the people of M-Sur-M. They were already paranoid and fearful of shadows to begin with, so Javert following them, immobilizing them, or flying through town without the people’s knowledge was unfair. He was forced to come clean in Toulon, but it was because someone had witnessed his abilities first hand, and that he was also stuck working in a prison. He didn’t mind, if it kept the prisoners at ease; however, he was now amongst honest men and women, where their words and actions hurt more than what was dwelling inside the bagne de Toulon. Madeleine had reminisced about the time he had been frightened under Javert’s hand. Although, after a few days, Madeleine had fully recovered, he had never forgotten those images, and noises that tormented his senses. As he sulked in his cell, the pieces had come together, and he had remembered the prefecture of Paris attending the ruthless act; whether the man deemed it appropriate or not, he was not sure. When the mayor thought about it, he assumed that the prefect was against Javert’s actions, and refused to invite him to the force as a potential prospect; however, some strings may have been pulled, and possibly a pact to carve his position as an officer of the law in stone. That moment intrigued Madeleine, and if he were to properly expose Javert, he would finally be able to answer those puzzling questions. Stating these facts, it was also unfair for Javert to turn the people against him, because of who he was in order for Madeleine to gain relief. Although somewhat resenting and fearful of Javert, the mayor still bore a conscience and moral sense. Javert would have to leave on his own accord, which may never happen. Madeleine had an inkling that this particular plan of action would probably backfire too.

The third option would be to kill him, and no way on Bishop Myriel’s grave would he consider such a heartless act. No matter, in whatever option Madeleine would choose, he would have to go to confession, and pray till the angels gave him wings in order to redeem himself of his many sins; there were already too many on the plate, and ruining a man’s life would be the icing on the cake.

How does one go about exposing a man such as Javert? The man has the capabilities to move faster than light, to dwell in the shadows, noticing all the events that go about around him. As we know, there is more that this man could do, but he was adamant on keeping a secret, and he was good at it too. Madeleine had done everything he could to catch Javert doing something out of the ordinary that a normal human could achieve, but not a hint of Javert’s darkness would exploit itself. Even if the mayor were to catch him using his powers, then what? Would he blackmail the man? Tell the entire town, and force them hate him in order to make Javert leave? Oh, it was all too conflicting for Madeleine’s mind and conscience. After further thought, Madeleine decided to play everything by ear. First, he needed information and an eyewitness. Madeleine was no good as a spy, so he decided to hire one from an inside organization that could provide him useful information in exchange for a hefty sum of money. He needed a spy; someone qualified and someone experienced. Javert bore the hearing of a bat, and thus he needed someone with more stealth.

As Madeleine sat as his desk, writing a letter to the organization, his pen abruptly stopped when a thought came to mind. He damned himself for realizing that he was a hypocrite himself. Yes, it was unfair for Javert to hide what he is from others, but at the same time, it was he who was being unfair to Javert for attempting to exploit him for personal gain. The mayor continued writing as he swore under his breath, and prayed the ‘Hail Mary’ more times than what the beads of a rosary could provide him.

 

* * *

 

 

‘Providence is the key to man’s survival in both reality and in a world without deception. Without providence, man would be a non-existent species. We must follow his unwritten laws to the letter, and only then, will we find our salvation.’ An unfamiliar man to us stated these words within the walls of M. Madeleine’s residence, when he suddenly discovered a crucifix hanging above the mantle of the fireplace, which was keeping them cozy. The mayor accompanied the man in another chair, enjoying several glasses of wine as the night went on; both men displayed a high tolerance for alcohol. As most would, the mysterious man only drank, because he felt like it; he wanted to socialize, and he knew for a fact that his body could handle alcohol without any repercussions. On the other hand, Madeleine wanted to get drunk, and let the influence of the substance take control, overpowering his mind in order to make terrible decisions before his conscience would stop him; however, no matter how many glasses of wine he consumed, the state of drunkenness seemed impossible to achieve.

The man beside the mayor was neither rich nor poor, and he cared none for his social status in this wretched society. The stranger may have been a street rat tainting the gutter, and somehow making extremely good money committing fraud or other crimes, or maybe he was an honest man, unfortunately caught up in the ruckus of wickedness. Whatever the case, darkness had eventually taken control of his soul, and it was something that was foreign to him. He considered the darkness that he was given his occupation, and that he must follow through with his duty as someone who sees all.

We shall call this man “the spy,” for releasing his true name could be a danger for not only him, but also the people that he worked for. The organization that employed him will not be named too, but it is safe to say that it was an underground organization that did not commit crimes themselves; they let others commit crimes for them. Obviously, the organization paid their employees large sums of money, in order to keep their mouths shut, if they were ever caught by the gendarmes, and placed in front of the jury. This association was smart, cunning, and Madeleine knew of these people long before he had become M-Sur-M’s lovely mayor. In secrecy, Madeleine had some connections with a few people working for the organization, and he had predicted that one-day, this dangerous business would oblige to help him one way or another; however, this was contradiction for the mayor was on a spiritual journey to follow the path of the righteous, to follow God, and in thanks to an important friend dwelling in the past, Madeleine was able to start changing his ways, to become a new person and not the monster that he was molded to be in the bagne.

He desperately wanted to follow the word of the Lord; however, if he were supposedly a religious man, why would he take the time to hire a professional spy? The mayor’s petty excuse to spy on the gendarme named Javert was that it was a means of self-defense, and not vengeance. He wanted Javert to leave M-Sur-M, and humiliating the man seemed like the best way to have the gendarme leave on his own accord. Whether it was known that Madeleine’s plan would backfire was highly unpredictable.

Madeleine had made the decision to expose Javert, but couldn’t figure out a single way for him to do so, without crushing the young man’s soul, and shattering his pride. At the end of the day, no matter how you sliced the pie, Madeleine was to sort of blackmail Javert. The mayor would find a way to expose the dangerous gendarme, and use what he would gain to his advantage. The entire situation was wrong, but it felt so right, and by doing so, he could potentially live another day as a somewhat free man; so the mayor had hired a spy earlier that afternoon to watch Javert, and play as an innocent witness, for when Javert would falter, and display his secret to others, the witness would be there to call him out, and also bring forth the information into the mayor’s office. Thus, when the information would be given to the mayor, it would then be leaked into society, and everyone shall know. Madeleine would then have to lie to the prefecture in stating that he was using his powers for ill, and that a shadow had no business being a policeman. He will be hated and discriminated by the people of the city and his co-workers, and would force himself to resign from his position, and be sent back to Paris where he wiould be terminated from his job.

This was conflicting indeed! The deed was terrible, but in Madeleine’s eyes, it was necessary. The other man noticed the mayor’s worried expression. He said:

‘I’ve seen that sort-of face before. Do not fret, Monsieur le Maire, for these things are only human. You are protecting yourself from someone who will destroy you indefinitely. It is not abnormal to let things like this conquer your mind; again, it is just being human…’

‘It is wrong. It is wrong for you to be here!’

‘Monsieur le Maire, these things happen every day. You are not the first, and my job is rather simple. I will follow this gendarme around until he displays abnormal activity; I’ll even make a scene. Then, I would inform you with evidence as a witness. It is then up to you to decide what you want to do with the information that I give to you.’

‘Monsieur, this man hurt me a long time ago. Believe me, I do resent him, and although I strive to live by God’s word, I can’t rid of my longing for vengeance. There is no room for it. It does not belong here…maybe you should go.’

‘You’re getting cold feet, aren’t you?’

Madeleine did not answer; instead, he focused his direct attention onto the fire.

‘You are sure that this man is a shadow?’

Madeleine quickly replied, ‘Yes.’

‘His abilities will leak soon.’ The spy sighed. He said, ‘Monsieur le Maire, if I were in your position, I would want to expose him too, but I wouldn’t want to blackmail him.’

‘I will do no such thing. I will expose him, and force him to leave town by law-abiding citizens – they do not like Javert – most despise him – wait; oh I don’t know what to do! What should I do once you find evidence?’

‘I don’t know; discuss the situation with him? Tell him to come clean? Arrange a press conference and have him address the public? In time, when he feels uncomfortable in his position, he will leave.’

‘You don’t understand, this man is under a contract…this man is different. He does not eat, or sleep; he is constantly working. He is loyal to the ways of the prefecture. Even if he is hated by the people of M-Sur-M, I fear that he would not leave.’

‘Then you may have to dirty your hands. Blackmail him…somehow. Anyways, once you do this, you will no longer be beside God. You will not find salvation.’

Madeleine took a glance back at his almost empty glass of wine; it was his fifth glass and he was still too sober for this shit. He said, ‘Fine, let’s take this one step at a time. You’ve got a job to do. While you’re doing whatever a spy does, I will be at the confessional. I’ll be beside God again.’

 

* * *

 

 

In the duration of the afternoon, Javert stood firmly in a set position on the side of the road, with his cudgel tucked under the armpit. The gendarme was on his afternoon patrol and was lost in searching for potential crime. According to the city’s records and reports, crime was at a record high within the last month, and the younger gendarme made it his mission to destroy the blasphemy that was currently tainting the streets. A variety of criminals including: spies, thieves and serial killers, were arrested during the carnival; Javert considered the event useless. It was often that he heard one deem the carnival as ‘a fun activity,’ but he wondered how it could possibly be fun if people were hurting others without a hint of remorse. Were the people of M-Sur-M that oblivious to the darkness of civilization?

In those three days, Javert’s holding cells were completely full. Most of those arrested were sentenced behind their personal bars within city limits, or were sent to the courts in Arras to determine whether their souls would permanently rest in the galleys. Now, the holding cells were near empty; meaning that now there was enough room for decrementing further crime. Thievery amongst the common people appropriately occurred during the day, and the more terrible crimes would transpire in the night, and under the moon’s watch.

Every night, Javert would not only gaze at the stars, but would also acknowledge the moon’s existence. The moon exposed criminals, and Javert only had to look at the guardian in the sky once to hear its captivating voice informing him of where the most dangerous crimes were being committed. We are figuratively speaking, for the moon did not talk, but it did shed a common light that would display crimes at all angles. Because of the moon existence, criminals fled underground; they thought they were being smart, but Javert knew of their whereabouts, and only waited near the exits in order to interrogate and arrest those of their filthy ways.

Even after the carnival, the streets were still bustling with activity. The number of people swarming the streets was overwhelming, making it near impossible to spot a crime if one were to be committed; however it was proven that Javert had sharp eyes and an intelligent mind. Rumors from M-Sur-M’s residents stated that he bore superhuman powers, in which he could see everything, possibly predict the future; Javert only shook his head after hearing their remarks. It was true that he could see everything, but not in the way that one would expect. He was a shadow and took little pride with what he was given. He was reluctant to show any part of himself that wasn’t human. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t need his powers to display that he was capable of doing his job correctly.

Javert was being followed; he had sensed eyes forced upon him for the past week. At one point in time, he noticed that the mayor was eerily watching him at all times of the day; did the mayor doubt Javert’s capabilities? Did he think him a competent officer? Or was he staking him for more intimate reasons; Javert desperately hoped that the mayor’s purpose was not the latter.

Then one day, Madeleine had stopped following Javert. It didn’t worry the gendarme, but he was curious as to why the Mayor had stopped his mischief abruptly? A better question was, why was the mayor following him in the first place; however, every time Javert talked to Madeleine’s assistant to get an answer, the boy always replied by saying, ‘The door is locked, inspector. He is busy.’

‘He is busy rather often, don’t you think?’ sneered Javert. ‘Tell him that inspector Javert wants to talk to him.’

‘Will do, Monsieur l’inspector,’ the boy replied. The response was nothing more than an automatic reflex just to get the grumpy gendarme out of his hair. He was under strict orders not to allow Javert access to the mayor unless stated otherwise from Madeleine himself. The boy listened to his employer, and did not speak a word to him about Javert’s brief visit; however, he knew (just like Javert) that the mayor wouldn’t be able to keep up the cold shoulder forever.

Javert’s eyes moved to his feet. He was buried in deep thoughts, pondering about what he had done wrong. Why was the mayor ignoring him? He needed to get to the heart of the situation, but access to Madeleine was restricted. Two weeks prior, their Friday tea session was cancelled due to the mayor’s cold feet, and alas had not been rescheduled. As always, the mayor shouted to the world that he was undergoing important business, and that they would have to postpone their meetings regarding the gendarme’s attempt in making the city of M-Sur-M a better place. It frustrated Javert in knowing that the mayor specifically stated the officer to address his issues and resolutions personally, but was stopping Javert from doing so; his daily reports were now becoming weekly reports by mail, and such an action disapproved the gendarme. The mayor was playing him, and Javert was getting nothing in return. Javert kicked some rocks in order to relieve himself of some frustration.

At that same particular point in time, nearby was a taller man – the spy – dressed in a maroon coat and black pants. He was watching Javert from afar, and once thought that he was caught red handed by the gendarme’s ice-cold eyes, but deemed himself a free man when Javert made the decision to scurry off to another location.

 

* * *

 

 Javert waited in silence from behind a brick wall. Lately, there had been numerous reports pertaining to underground smuggling. M-Sur-M bore many concealed tunnels that were considered unheard of to honest men; only the gendarmes and those who caused mischief knew of their existence.

The smugglers in M-Sur-M distributed cheap wine as a means of gaining revenue. The taxation in France was a complicated system, so those who were named ‘troublesome’ snatched large amounts of the item. They did so by scamming local wineries, and then supplying the wine to the common people in order to fill the bellies of their children; however, it was odd and noted that people were consuming great quantities of alcohol (more than usual). This caused both the police and the government to raise their brows.

In France, wine was the substitute for water; it was considered a great necessity in leading to a longer and more substantial life. Wine was too valuable to the human body and spirit to be abusing it for selfish purposes. In the alleys, Javert had overheard several rumors, stating that people were smuggling goods from Paris. Obviously, the act of smuggling – illegal goods or too many goods –was against the law, and Javert, made it his mission to arrest the guilty, but first, he must find evidence in order to press charges. He thought to discover their place of hiding, and witness firsthand, the transactions that were taking place below ground.

Several times throughout the night, Javert glanced over his shoulder, reassuring himself that no one in particular had been following him. Unseen to the gendarme’s eye, the spy – that the mayor had hired – was behind a wall of his own, listening to most of Javert’s isolated conversations. ‘ _This will be the jackpot,’_ the spy thought, ‘ _if this man is truly a shadow, he will force himself into the nearest wall, and travel underground without being seen. He would then proceed to hide in the darkness, and watch whatever crimes he desires to see take place before leaving and gathering other officers to make the arrests. It is too dangerous to go in alone, for most criminals carry pistols and knives.’_

The spy slowly shifted his body along the smooth surface of the wall. He peeked around the corner, attempting to catch a quick glimpse of the gendarme. So far, following Javert had been less than easy. Several times, the spy had thought himself caught, for the mayor wasn’t joking that the man had the hearing of a bat; however, he always managed to save himself from the gendarme’s mallet of justice. Locking his eyes onto Javert, the spy patiently waited for his target to access the tunnels. Javert had knowledge of the tunnel’s whereabouts, so he proceeded to slip in between cracks in alleyways that – if you were thin enough – a human body could pass through without the use of supernatural abilities.

The spy raised a brow at the sight of Javert’s disappearance. Quietly, the spy reached where Javert previously stood, and looked through the cracks in the wall, that were acting like a door to a secret passage. With his own eyes, he observed Javert nearing the end of his journey between the two enclosing walls. Eventually, the gendarme had made it to the other side. After, the officer found himself alone and located in a semi large square, where numerous men and women could gather, and create their plans of mischief within the gutter’s place of secrecy during daylight hours. Javert shifted his gaze towards the middle of the square, and noticed a rectangular shaped iron grate. Javert looked over his shoulder once more, before opening the grate that lead to the underworld. After gaining access to the tunnels, Javert carefully slipped inside. One could easily misinterpret that where Javert fell would lead to the sewers, but no, they led to the no good tunnels.

The spy then hurried to the still open grate, and briefly witnessed the tails of Javert’s greatcoat flying past his line of vision. ‘Shit,’ the spy said quietly; he hoped that he hadn’t missed Javert’s transformation. Without making a sound, the spy entered the tunnels, and observed Javert in the distance. The gendarme was as still as a statue as he stood in his set path.

Then the spy froze as a sudden realization hit him. Javert had stopped, and now he was completely exposed. All Javert had to do was turn around, and the game of cat and mouse would end. The spy held his breath until Javert started moving down the tunnels again.

The spy spotted another place of hiding tucked in the corner of the vast tunnels; he reached the safety of that particular point. He carefully exposed his head past the corner and watched Javert intently. Finally, the gendarme was steadying himself against the nearest wall. He took a couple of quick breaths before continuing on his journey for useful information, and evidence that could be used in the court of law.

The spy gasped. The officer didn’t use his shadow capabilities at all. This started to irritate the older man, for he thought his job to be over at that moment. He had known several shadows over the years, and he found that each one could not control their powers – who they were – and eventually let their darkness consume them. It was easy to distinguish the shadows from the everyday mortal, but this man was different. After many hours of following the man, the spy began to doubt that Javert was what the mayor claimed him to be. Things just weren’t adding up.

The spy continued following Javert through the tunnels until he heard murmuring in the distance. He followed the said voices. When the spy eventually reached another distant corner, he gawked from behind, and quickly observed Javert’s back at least ten feet in front of his line of sight. The gendarme was crouching behind some wooden boxes, and making mental notes as he watched the scene unfold in front of him. Briefly releasing Javert from his cold stare, the spy looked past his prey, and observed four clean cut men, making silly conversation. These men were busy lifting heavy crates filled to the brim with bottles upon bottles of precious wines. There were other men too, but unlike the others, they were dirty and considered outcasts in the eyes of society. One poor man was standing beside the richer of the two, speaking things of which only Javert would be able to distinguish. The more well to do man was also writing notes that pertained to their inventory. After several minutes, a single transaction was finally made, and the poorer men had disappeared from the tunnels.

Then, the few men that were huddled together started whispering something in each other’s ear. When their word had spread amongst the group, they quickly shot a disgusted look in the direction of where Javert and the spy were concealing themselves. One started:

‘Who are you?’

The spy swiftly veiled himself further into the wall’s shadows, then praying that _he_ wasn’t the one who was sighted. He held his breath until another voice sounded.

‘Judging by the uniform, and how poorly he hides, he must be a gendarme!’

The spy breathed a sigh of relief.

Then, he heard Javert speak. ‘Good evening, everyone.’

‘What were you doing over there, huh?’

Another voice said, ‘Spying on us no doubt.’

‘Pitiful! He’s just itching to arrest us, isn’t he?’

‘Oh, It would be the feather in his cap if he were to arrest us.’

Javert, who could not lie to save his life, decided to be honest and said, ‘I’ve come to gather evidence of your illegal activities. That is all. Yes, I plan on arresting you, but not when there are four of you against one of me.’

‘Gendarme, leave.’

‘I say let’s get em!’

‘Kill em!’

Javert shouted, ‘I’ll inform you that I am now a witness to your wrongdoings, and I’ll be sure to arrest you before the sun rises.’

‘Gendarme, you have three seconds to get out of here, or we’ll be forced to slit your throat, and toss your lonesome body into the river.’

‘Perfect,’ whispered the spy, ‘With a threat of that altitude, he’ll have no choice but to flee with the use his powers, and reveal what he truly is.’

Without a second thought, Javert ran from the scene; he ran past the man who was stalking him. The spy watched Javert escape the tunnels. Much to his surprise the young inspector, again, did not use his powers; he just ran for his life.

But the men that the gendarme had associated with did not chase him. The spy continued to watch Javert, until the officer was completely free from the darkness, and returned back to his original post.

After that night, the spy stopped following Javert.

 

* * *

 

 

‘Monsieur le Maire,’ said the off duty spy. He attempted to get Madeleine’s attention by raising a hand and wiggling his fingers.

Contained between the walls of his office, the mayor glanced up from his paperwork. He quickly acknowledged the man in front of him with a warm smile. He slowly placed his quill back into the ink well before folding his hands together, and gently placing them onto the oak desk. After four questionable days, the spy had finally returned; Madeleine only hoped that the man he hired held some useful information.

‘Why hello, please, have a seat, Monsieur,’ Madeleine said, pointing to a chair.

The spy shook his head. ‘No, Monsieur le Maire, I shall stand.’

‘So, you are obviously back from your venture. Tell me, what have you accomplished? What information do you bring back to the mayor? How much should I pay you for your services?’

The spy released a breath while slumping his shoulders. ‘I have accomplished nothing,’ the spy said bluntly.

‘Nothing!’

The spy nodded. ‘Monsieur, I have never failed in my duty, but alas, it has happened.’

The mayor did not get angry. He said in a calm manner, ‘what happened? Were you found out?’

The mayor then closely examined the spy, and noticed that he looked terrible; it was as if he hadn’t gotten an ounce of sleep for days. Dark bags were apparent under his eyes, and his once clean-shaven face was now covered in dirt, grime and hair. The spy replied, ‘No, I was not spotted. I am never spotted, I am actually good at my job, it’s just…this man, he didn’t do anything!’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Over the last few days, I have closely watched this man, and he did not once show any indication that he is what you claim him to be. The gendarme had been in many sticky situations, and I thought for sure that he would expose himself somehow, but he didn’t!’ He gasped for breath, ‘Forgive me, Monsieur le Maire, but I believe that you are lying about this man. He isn’t a shadow.’-

Madeleine interrupted the spy by slamming a fist on his desk. ‘But he is!’-

‘And I have no proof to support your statement! All shadows eventually lose their minds, and so far, he has not shown it. Even if he is a shadow, I think that it is in his best interest to be left alone; and quite frankly, I want him to be left alone too!’

‘Monsieur, I believe that I demand a refund.’

‘Blast your money, Monsieur. I’m hungry, and I’m tired. I could follow this man for a month, and the end result would still remain the same. I say give up, this isn’t working.’

The mayor sighed. This was unfortunate. Without speaking, Madeleine turned to his checkbook and wrote out a hefty sum of money for the spy’s hard work. Although the mayor despised the spy’s tongue, he had to admit that the younger man did a marvelous job at following Javert without being caught. After signing the check, Madeleine rose from his desk, and tucked it into the spy’s hand as a peace offering. ‘Thank you,’ was what the mayor said before turning his back to the spy, giving the man behind him the indication that he had his leave to go.

‘Thank you, Monsieur, I…apologize that I couldn’t complete your task to the fullest extent, but please believe me when I say that I did the best that I could.’ Then, the spy turned around to leave the office. As he grasped the handle, the door suddenly jarred before violently swinging open, and hitting the man directly in the face. He was sent crashing into the wall, and was quickly rendered unconscious.

Hearing the commotion from behind him, the mayor turned around, and observed a very angry man confronting him at a quickened pace. It was inspector Javert in the flesh. The inspector’s finger was raised, pleading for the need to scold the mayor. Madeleine did not know why Javert was angry, neither did he know what wrong he might have committed, but nonetheless, he prepared himself for a brutal tongue-lashing.

‘Monsieur le Maire,’ Javert shouted.

‘Yes, Javert, what do you need?’ responded Madeleine.

Javert stopped approximately five feet from the mayor’s body. Any closer, and Javert would be sure to hit Madeleine with his over accentuated hand gestures. He said, ‘so it was you all along. I was right, you _are_ stalking me!’ Javert aimed a finger at the spy, who was now conscious and struggling to his feet. ‘And you hired somebody to do the job. Monsieur le Maire, why are you spying on me? Am I failing as an inspector?’

‘Were…were you eavesdropping?’

‘I came to give you my daily report. A report that you’ve been ignoring and postponing for days! Listen, I can’t do my job properly if you keep playing with the police like this. You know, I could have you reported, and blast it, I should have you reported for stalking an officer of the law without sufficient reasoning.’

Madeleine then raised his hands to the level of his chest. He attempted to calm the officer, ‘Javert, please calm, and lower your voice. We should talk about this like reasonable men over a cup of tea.’ –

Javert interjected, ‘I don’t have time to talk it over! Presently, the police have infiltrated smugglers from the underground tunnels resulting in injured men under my jurisdiction. I am their supervisor, responsible to get those men home safely to their families, but that’s not the point. I want to know why you are spying on me in the first place! Is it I? Are you trying to get me to spill police secrets? No? Answer me!’

Madeleine failed to answer the gendarme. He attempted to look guilty of the latter by shifting his eyes to the side, and digging his toe into the dirt. He prayed that his body language would confirm Javert’s own suspicions. Javert laughed, ‘so I am right! You are wondering if I am withholding some damn secret from the prefecture and M-Sur-M. And humor me, Monsieur le Maire, but what might that secret be? Believe me or not, Monsieur, I always state the truth; in which I am saying that I do not keep any secrets from anyone, especially the mayor of M-Sur-M.

Regarding my other frustrations, I must say that I’ve offered you plenty of time to meet with me, so that we could discuss strategies, and other issues pertaining to the M-Sur-M police force, but you always just so happen to be busy. ‘He is busy. He should not be disturbed,’ says your assistant. You are a liar, Monsieur. Finally, I have caught you.’

Madeleine started to sweat. Did Javert know? Did he finally figure it out? That he was Jean Valjean?

Javert attempted to catch his breath, for ranting was hard work. When Javert was finally able to compose himself, he said in a softer tone of voice, ‘Monsieur, why do you refuse to see me? As I arrived here in M-Sur-M, I had heard such nice things about you, but from what I have seen, you are far from what they all say. You constantly push me away, when I strive to give you my all. Can’t you see that I’m trying to help your city?’

The mayor stared at Javert. The officer was right about a lot of things. Although Javert was considered a dangerous man to Madeleine, it didn’t give him appropriate reasoning to avoid the law altogether. It was evident that the whole ordeal was a one sided personal matter. Then, Madeleine came to a realization that this was not Javert’s fault. The younger man was fair, and he was doing his duty correctly.

At that moment, the mayor made a point to stop cowering from the gendarme, and if one day, he were caught under Javert’s gaze, he would at least get the chance to see how fast he could run.

Madeleine said, ‘I apologize inspector, and yes, you are right. I do believe that you are hiding something from me, and my reasoning has nothing to do with M-Sur-M or the prefecture. I would never insult the prefecture or your occupation like that; and if you have proper reasoning and evidence to believe that I am a spy, attempting to gather leaked information about the monarchy, then you can arrest me for treason.’ He sighed, ‘Javert, my reason for spying on you is personal. It has to do with you as a human being. There is something that you are hiding, and I wanted to know if my suspicions are correct or not.’

Javert furrowed his brows. He said coldly, ‘and what if your suspicions are correct? What would you do to me?’

‘I don’t know.’

Javert looked away. He said sheepishly, ‘Monsieur le Maire, my secret is something that I do not share publicly. Now, I must be going.’

Madeleine beamed. ‘Then why don’t we have tea at my residence on Saturday? You are not working Saturday night, correct?’

Javert gave a curt nod.

‘Great, I’m looking forward to our conversation. I’ll make sure to buy some extra sugar too.’

**Author's Note:**

> Writing is fun!
> 
> Also, I have a computer which seems to duplicate phrases. If there are duplicated phrases, let me know. Silly computer. :P


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